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Vol. IV. THE RECITER'S LIBRARY, MAY, 1901. No. 5, 



JULIA AND 
ANNIE THOMAS'S 




FAVORITE 
SELECTIONS 



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CONGRESS, 

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AUG, 23 W1 

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Elocution and Action. 

By f. townsend southwick. 



ILLUSTEATED. 



In use in the best schools of the country. In accordance 
with the "New Elocution." 



ENDORSED BY LEADING ELOCUTIONISTS. 



ROBERT MeLE4N CUMNOCK, 

Professor of Elocution in Northwestern 

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"I find it a very skilful arrangement of 
well-known principles of vocal and ges- 
tural expression.'" 

AUSTIN B. FLETCHER, formerly 

Professor of Oratory in Brown and 

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Teacher of Elocution in the Girls' 
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Instructor in Elocution in Harvard and 

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etc. 

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MIS 8 LOIS A. BANGS, formerly 
Teacher of Elocution in Packer Insti- 
tute, now Principal of Young Ladies 1 
School, New York. 
'The exercises given are clearly and 
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and clearn. ssof expression and definition." 

WAITER C. TOYMAN, Teacher of 
Elocution and Public Reader, Chicago. 
"A valuable text-book." 



'The 



ALFRED ATRES, Author of 

Orthoepist," "The Verbalist," "Es- 
sentials of Elocution," etc. 
"The best of the kind I am acquainted 

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PROF. CHARLES BICKFORD, 

Teacher of Elocution, Boston. 
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visor of Physical Culture and Elocution 
in the Des Moines Public Schools. 
"The arrangement of the lessons is very 

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J. R. J". ANTHONY, Instructor in 
Elocution in Chicago Theological 
Seminary. 
' ' It meets a long-felt need in the element- 
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mime." 

MISS JOSEPHINE HORTON, 

Teacher of Elocution in Hughes High 
School, Cincinnati. 
" The course laid down is simple, definite 
and practical, and especially adapted to 
beginners. Pupils see a reason for each 
step. These principles may be carried out 
to meet the requirements of advanced 
pupils. Earnest pupils, by this methoSq,. 
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readers." 1 

FRF.r>EHI('K A BBOTT, Teacher of 
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"1 have used it with splendid results 
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Price, 75 cents, postpaid. Teachers' price, 60 cents, postpaid. 
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FAVORITE SELECTIONS 



-OF — 



JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS 






NEW YORK 
EDGAR S. WERNER PUBLISHING & SUPPLY CO. 

(INCORPORATED) 



Copyright, 1892, by Annie Thomas 



PREFACE 



This compilation of some of our favorite recitations — of 
some of the beautiful thoughts which brought us peace when 
tempest-tossed and pleasure when sorrow-laden — of some which 
illustrate the truths we have endeavored to interpret in out- 
work on "Psycho-Physical Culture," we present, trusting that 
others may receive from them the hope, the joy, the rest, and 
the gladness they have brought to us. 

The compilers would acknowledge especial indebtedness to 
all who have kindly permitted the use of copyrighted matter: 

Mary Mapes Dodge, for "The Two Mysteries." 

Charles Scribner's Sons, for J. G. Holland's " Gradatim. " 

Joaquin Miller, for "Life Leaves," and for " Station De- 
spair." 

Charles Follen Adams, for " Vas Marriage a Failure ?" " Hans 
und Fritz;" and " Der Oak und der Vine," from " Dialect Bal- 
lads," published by Harper & Bros. 

Margaret E. Sangster, for "At Sunset." 

The Bowen-Merrill Co., for J. Whitcomb Riley's "Kissing 
the Rod." 

Mary D. Brine, for " She Was 'Somebody's Mother.' " 

The Century Co., for Sarah Winter Kellogg's " A Second 
Trial." 

The J. B. Lippincott Co., for T. B. Read's " Drifting." 

S. W. Foss, for "Then Ag'in. " 

Rev. Dwight Williams, for "Be Still." 

Houghton, Mifflin & Co., for Alice Cary's "One of Many;" 
and for Phcebe Cary's " The Leak in the Dike." 

Julia and Annie Thomas, 

Compilers. 



CONTENTS. 






PAGE 

Advice to a Hard Student. . 21 

After Election. Annie Thomas 43 

Annabel Lee. Edgar Allan Poe 79 

Apparitions. Robert Browning 7 

At Sunset. Margaret E. Sangster 67 

Beautiful, The. E. H. Burrington 30 

Be Still. Rev. Dwight Williams 162 

Billy's First and Last Drink of Lager 19 

Bon Ton Saloon, The 8 

Bootblack, The , in 

"Bose." Emeline Sherman Smith : 57 

Brahma 22 

Buttercups and Daisies 23 

Carcassonne. Gustav Nadaud . 69 

Chemistry of Character, The. Elizabeth Dorney 83 

Chickens 107 

Child's Thought of God. A. ->■ Elizabeth Barrett Browning 41 

Der Oak und der Vine. Charles Follen Adams 124 

Day is Done, The. Henry W. Longfellow 1 

Discipline 75 

Dolly's Prayer. Emma Burt 139 

Drifting. T. B. Read 141 

Drunkard-maker, The 140 

Duty. Johann C. F. von Schiller 123 

Duty. Rev. Alfred J. Hough. 153 



VI CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Eden Advancing. Rev. E. H. Stokes, D.D 89 

Eleventh Hour. The. Anna L. Ruth 36 

Extract from "The Light of Asia." Sir Edwin Arnold 191 

"Father, Take My Hand." 98 

( iardener's Daughter, The Alfred Tennyson 179 

Gems from Walt Whitman. . . ". 195 

( rive Us Men 54 

God's Appointments. Emma C. Dowd 33 

Golden-Rod 163 

Golden-Rod. C. A. Kiefe 26 

Gradatim. J. G. Holland 49 

Guilty or Not Guilty? , 52 

Hans and Fritz. Charles Follen Adams 85 

Haste Not — Rest Not. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe 18 

Here or There. Henry Burton 149 

Herve Riel. Robert Browning 165 

His Best Girl 5 

Hope On. Adelaide A. Procter 77 

Hour of Prayer, The. Victor Hugo 78 

If Only ; 144 

Tf There Be Glory. Maxwell Grey 154 

Indian's Revenge, The. Felicia Hemans 91 

Jack 71 

John's Mistake. Mollie Brande 5° 

Judge Not 38 

Katie Lee and Willie Grey x 34 

Katie's Answer 5 5 

King's Picture, The. Helen B. Bostwick . 3 

Kissing the Rod. James Whitcomb Riley *• • 102 

Leak in the Dike, The. Phoebe Gary 170 

I egend of Bregenz, A. Adelaide A. Procter 115 

Liberty and Independence 3 1 

Life. Annie Thomas !55, 



CONTENTS. vii 

PAGE 

Life Leaves. Joaquin Miller \ ,' 63 

Lines Written on My 87th Birthday. David Dudley Field 185 

Little Newsman, The 10 

Little Rocket's Christmas. Vandyke Brown 44 

Lost Pearl, The 66 

. Margery. Mrs. E. C. Foster 86 

Message, The. Adelaide A. Procter 146 

Mirage. Edith Sessions Tupper 65 

My Kate. Elizabeth Barrett Browning 109 

My Mission. Bayard Taylor 177 

Never Trouble Trouble. Fannie Windsor 147 

Nobility. Anne C. L. Botta : 8 

Not Knowing. 16 

"Number Twenty-five." 131 

O'Connor's Child. Thomas Campbell 156 

Old Ben's Trust 112 

One of Many. Alice Cary 164 

Painter of Seville, The. Susan Wilson 125 

Past and the Future, The. Luther R. Marsh 174 

Pig in the Fence, A 56 

Poor Children, The. Victor Hugo 17 

Poor Fisher Folk, The. Victor Hugo 187 

Premonition of Immortality. David Dudley Field 186 

Regrets of Drunkenness. William Shakespeare 151 

Religio Academici , 105 

Revelation 29 

Second Trial, A. Sarah Winter Kellogg 119 

Self-Culture 148 

Self-Dependence. Matthew Arnold 175 

She was "Somebody's Mother." Mary D. Brine 104 

Shepherd Dog of the Pyrenees, The. Ellen Murray 144 

Smiting the Rock 136 

Station Despair. Joaquin Miller 103 



Vi il CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Suggestion. Richard Realph 82 

Then Ag'in. S. W. Foss 150 

Three Days in the Life of Columbus. Jean F. C. Delavigne 99 

Three Words of Strength. Johann C. F. Von Schiller 76 

Tired 42 

To a Skeleton 28 

To Walt Whitman. Annie Thomas 194 

Trying to Get Even Don't Pay , 40 

Two Mysteries, The. Mary Mapes Dodge 15 

Two Towns 1 69 

Unfulfilled 39 

Up-Hill. Christina G. Rossetti 37 

" Vas Marriage a Failure ? " Charles Follen Adams 64 

Wedding Fee, The. R. N. Streeter 60 

What of That ? 35 

Who is My Neighbor ? 68 

Wishes. Anne C. L. Botta 5 

Woman's Complaint, A. 113 

Women of the War. Annie Thomas 80 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS 

OF 

JULIA and ANNIE THOMAS 



THE DAY IS DONE. 



HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. 



THE day is done, and the darkness 
Falls from the wings of Night, 
As a feather is wafted downward 
From an eagle in his flight. 

I see the lights of the village 

Gleam through the rain and the mist, 
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me 

That my soul cannot resist: 

A feeling of sadness and longing, 

That is not akin to pain, 
And resembles sorrow only 

As the mist resembles the rain. 

Come, read to me some poem, 
Some simple and heartfelt lay, 

That shall soothe this restless feeling, 
And banish the thoughts of day. 



JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

Not from the grand old masters, 
Not from the bards sublime, 

Whose distant footsteps echo 
Through the corridors of Time. 

For, like strains of martial music, 
Their mighty thoughts suggest 

Life's endless toil and endeavor; 
And to-night I long for rest. 

Read from some humbler poet, 

Whose songs gushed from his heart, 

As showers from the clouds of summer, 
Or tears from the eyelids start; 

Who, through long days of labor, 

And nights devoid of ease, 
Still heard in his soul the music 

Of wonderful melodies. 

Such songs have power to quiet 

The restless pulse of care, 
And come like the benediction 

That follows after prayer. 

Then read from the treasured volume 

The poem of thy choice, 
And lend to the rhyme of the poet 

The beauty of thy voice. 

And the night shall be filled with music, 
And the cares that infest the day 

Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, 
And as silently steal away. 



FA VORITE SELECTIONS. 



THE KING'S PICTURE. 



HELEN B. BOSTWICK. 



There is in every human being, however ignoble, some hint of perfection; 
some one place where, as we may fancy, the veil is thin which hides the 
Divinity behind it. — Confucian Classics. 



THE King from his council chamber 
Came weary and sore of heart ; 
He called for II iff the painter, 

And spake to him thus apart : 
" I am sickened of faces ignoble, 

Hypocrites, cowards, and knaves! 
I shall fall to their shrunken measure, 
Chief slave in a realm of slaves! 

" Paint me a true man's picture, 

Gracious and wise and good; 
Endowed with the strength of heroes 

And the beauty of womanhood. 
It shall hang in my inmost chamber, 

That thither, when I retire, 
It may fill my soul with grandeur 

And warm it with sacred fire." 

So the artist painted the picture, 
And hung it in palace hall, 

Never one 'so beautiful 

Had adorned the stately wall. 



JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

The King, with head uncovered. 
Gazed on it with rapt delight, 

Till it suddenly wore strange meaning, 
And baffled his questioning sight. 

For the form was his supplest courtier's, 

Perfect in every limb; 
But the bearing was that of the henchman 

Who filled the flagons for him; 
The brow was a priest's who pondered 

His parchments early and late; 
The eye was a wandering minstrel's 

Who sang at the palace gate; 

The lips — half sad, half mirthful, 

With a flitting, tremulous grace — 
Were the very lips of a woman 

He had seen in the market-place; 
But the smile which the face transfigured, 

As a rose with its shimmer of dew, 
Was the smile of the wife who loved him- 

Queen Ethelyn, good and true. 

Then, "Learn, O King," said the artist, 

"This truth that the picture tells; 
How in every form of the human 

Some hint of the highest dwells; 
How, scanning each living temple 

For the place where the veil is thin, 
We may gather, by beautiful glimpses, 

The form of the God within." 



FA FORI TE SELEC TIONS. 



WISHES. 



ANNE C. L. BOTTA. 



4i /^IVE me the bracelets that your warriors wear! " 

vJ The Roman traitress to the Sabine cried. 

" Give me but them and I will be your guide, 
And to your host the city's gates unbar." 
Then to the walls each eager warrior rushed, 

And on the base Tarpeia as he passed, 

Each from his arm the massive circlet cast 
Till her slight form beneath the weight was crushed. 

Thus are our idle wishes. Thus we sigh 

For some imagined good yet unattained; 

For wealth, or fame, or love, and which once gained, 
May, like a curse, o'er all our future lie. 

Thus in our blindness do we ask of fate 

The gifts that once bestowed, may crush us with their weight. 



HIS BEST GIRL. 



HE hurried up to the office as soon as he entered the hotel, 
and, without waiting to register, inquired eagerly: 
" Any letter for me ? " 

The clerk sorted over a package with the negligent attention 
that comes of practice, then flopped one — a very small one — on 
the counter. 

The travelling man took it with a curious smile that twisted 
his face into a mask of expectancy. He smiled more as he 
read it. Then, oblivious of other travellers who jostled him, he 



G JULIA AND A XX IE THOMAS' 

laid it tenderly against his lips and actually kissed it. A loud 
guffaw startled him. 

"Now look here, old fellow," said a loud voice," that won't 
do, you know. Too spooney for anything. Confess, now, your 
wife didn't write that letter?" 

"No, she didn't," said the travelling man, with an amazed 
look, as if he would like to change the subject. "That letter 
is from my best girl." 

The admission was so unexpected that the trio of friends 
who had caught him said no more until after they had eaten a 
good dinner and were seated together in a chum's room. 

Then they began to badger him. 

"It's no use, you've got to read it to us, Dick," said one of 
them, " we want to know all about your best girl." 

" So you shall," said Dick with great coolness. " I will give 
you the letter and you can read it yourselves. There it is," 
and he laid it open on the table. 

" I guess not," said the one who had been loudest in demand- 
ing it. "We like to chaff a little, but I hope we are gentlemen. 
The young lady would hardly care to have her letter read by 
this crowd," and he looked reproachfully at his friend. 

" But I insist upon it," was the answer. " There is nothing in 
it to be ashamed of — except the spelling; that isa little shaky, 
I'll admit, but she won't care in the least. Read it, Hardy, 
and judge for yourself." 

Thus urged, Hardy took up the letter, shamefacedly enough, 
and read it. There were only a few words. First he laughed, 
then swallowed suspiciously, and, as he finished it, threw it 
on the table again and rubbed the back of his hand across his 
eyes as if troubled with dimness of vision. 

" Pshaw," he said, " if I had a love letter like that " and 

then was silent. 

" Fair play!" cried one of the others, with an uneasy laugh. 

"I'll read it to you, boys," said their friend, seeing they 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 7 

made no move to take it, "and I think you'll agree with me 
that it's a model love letter." 
And this was what he read: 

"Mi owen deer PaPa. I sa mi PRairs every nite annd Wen 
i kis yure Pictshure i ASK god to bless you gOOd bi Pa Pa, 
yure Best gurl DOLLY." 

For a moment or two the company remained silent, while the 
letter was passed from hand to hand, and you would have said 
that every one had hay fever by the snuffling that was heard. 
Then Hardy jumped to his feet. 

"Three cheers for Dolly and three cheers more for Dick's 
best girl ! " 

They were given with a will. 



APPARITIONS. 



ROBERT BROWNING. 



SUCH a starved bank of moss 
Till, that May morn, 
Blue ran the flash across: 
Violets were born! 

Sky — what a scowl of cloud 

Till, near and far, 
Ray on ray split the shroud: 

Splendid, a star. 

World — how it walled about 
Life with disgrace 
Till God's own smile came out: 
That was thy face! 



lULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 



NOBILITY, 



ANNE C. L. BOTTA. 



I DO not ask if an illustrious name 
Has shed upon thy birth its purple glow ; 
Nor do I ask what titles thou canst claim, 
What ribbon favors, such as kings bestow. 

Why should I, when upon thy brow I see, 
In its expression of all lofty things, 

The insignia of that true nobility 

That bears the impress of the King of kings. 



THE BON TON SALOON. 



BY THE EDITOR OF ALL THE WORLD. 



SUNSHINY, crisp, broke that October morning. 
Montana way; 
Down the white roadways of Helena tramping, 

At break of day, 
Gang after gang of brisk workmen came thronging, 

Gathering soon 
Where crawled long, snakelike trenches, in front of 
The Bon Ton saloon. 

Oh, you would never have looked for a hero 

Out of that crowd! 
Navvies from East and from West were assembled, 

Soiled, labor-bowed. 
Infidels, Jews — and one Salvation soldier, 

Humming a tune, 
Digging away where the trench ran in front of 

The Bon Ton saloon 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 9 

Waked the young city to clangor and bustle, 

Effort and strife. 
Townsmen and ranchmen were passing, repassing, 

Sinning was rife. 
Whirled all the wheels of life faster and faster, till 

Just at high noon 
Came a great crash, and a dust cloud in front of 

The Bon Ton saloon! 

Silence an instant. Then oaths and quick orders, 

Clamor and din. 
Two men the earth-slide had buried already 

Up to the chin. 
Well knew the hurrying workmen unless their 

Help reached them soon, 
Two corpses, ready-graved, stood there in front of 

The Bon Ton saloon! 

Clear rose a voice from the mound that was crushing them, 

" Never mind me! 
I — I belong to the Salvation Army, 

Dig my mate free! " 
Care-free was he of the Helena soldiery. 

Humming his tune, 
Under the earth or above it, in front of 

The Bon Ton saloon! 

Half an hour later he stood on the sidewalk; 

Scathless was he. 
God can be trusted to always look after 

" Never mind me! " 
All over Helena, sinners, remember it — 

How, high at noon, 
Testified Tracy, entombed there in front of 

The Bon Ton saloon ! 



JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 



THE LITTLE NEWSMAN. 



IT was no wonder the men stopped their work and stared. It 
was no wonder that one or two of them laughed for a mo- 
ment. It looked so strange and somehow out of place. None 
of us had ever seen or heard anything like it before. 

It was in the yard of the largest marble works in the city of 
Chicago. Ever so many fine monuments, delicately carved and 
finished, stood there complete to show how well work could be 
done; and then there was work in all stages of finish, some 
pieces of marble just begun to be chiselled, little and great, 
simple and elegant. Then there were broken pieces of marble 
lying there apparently useless, and some otherwise, but broken 
in process of chiselling. 

Not one of all these escaped the quick eye of the little street 
vagrant (as any of us would have called him) who had entered 
the yard a few moments before with such a business air, and 
walked from one to the other and scanned them closely. We 
had paid little attention to him, for we thought that for want 
of something worse to do he had just wandered in. It was his 
first question that startled us. The smiles died away from the 
faces of all as we listened to him. He stepped nearer to the 
one that he took to be boss among us, and said: 

"I say, mister, how much does this cost?" He pointed to a 
plain marble slab that looked simple enough in the midst of 
so many finer ones. I can't tell you how his question sounded, 
for you can't hear his voice. It had in it something which 
brought tears instead of smiles. 

The boss named the price; a disappointed look crept over 
the face of the ragged little newsboy, and with a forced smile 
that was sadder than tears he looked up with: 

"Why, that's more than I thought; I ain't able to pay that. " 



FA VORITE SELECTIONS. 1 1 

He went on through the smaller ones inquiring the price of 
each, and each time looking his disappointment that all were 
too costly for his small means. Finally he stopped in front of 
a broken shaft of marble; one of the remains of an accident in 
the yard the day before. He took off his ragged hat, and gaz- 
ing at the broken stone for a few moments he stammered out: 

"I say, mister, that looks like her somehow. How much 
may I have it for? " 

He was asked if he wanted it lettered, and when it was ex- 
plained to him what that meant, and that it would cost some- 
thing to have it done, he said: 

*'No; I can't afford that, but p'raps I can manage that my- 
self, "and again that sad, forced smile. "Ye see," he went on, 
" mother and I were all there was left of us, leastways as far 
as we know, for we haven't heard from father for ever so long. 
We kept house together. I earned what I could, and mother 
she worked as long as she was able. She wasn't very old, but 
she was always crying, only when she cheered up to make her 
little son happy — that ! s what she called me; but she couldn't 
cheer up for long She grew sicker and sicker, and — well — I 

did all I could for her ; but — she died last week " The little 

fellow was sobbing now as he leaned on the broken shaft that 
reminded him of his mother. 

His tears were not the only ones, I can tell you. We nodded 
to the boss, and he named a price so small that the manly little 
fellow looked up with amazement that at last he had found 
something within his means. He quickly closed the bargain 
and counted out the nickels and pennies for his prize. He 
walked about for a few moments among the stones spelling out, 
as best he could, the inscriptions, asked several questions about 
how it was done, and how long it took; then hastily went out 
like a man of business, saying: 

"I'll be after it to-morrow." 

He came toward the middle of the day when the morning 



12 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

papers were all sold. He had a little cart which he asked us 
to load the stone in, and never a purchaser had left that yard 
with a sweeter, sadder satisfaction than our little hero. He 
took the streets toward the cemetery — we knew, for we 
watched him. 

We half expected he would turn up some day to learn more 
about the lettering or something but he never came, and our 
curiosity, we thought, was likely never to be gratified. 

One Monday morning as we gathered at our work, one of the 
men, who had seemed particularly sober, startled us with: 

" I say, boys, wouldn't you like to know what became of our 
little newsman ? " 

"Yes, yes; what do you know of him ?" came from several 
at once. 

"Well," said the workman, "I will own I have thought of 
the little fellow every day since he was here; and somehow 
couldn't get rid of the thought that I should like to know what 
had become of him. How to find out I couldn't tell, for not 
one of us had asked where he lived or his name or knew any 
one who could tell us. Yesterday I thought of a plan; and so 
in the afternoon I started for the cemetery I thought it likely 
he carried his stone to. I was lucky, for at almost my first 
question the man in charge seemed to know whom I meant, and 
asked if I would know the stone if I saw it. I told him I 
would, and he started with me toward a corner of the cemetery 
that I was afraid was the Potter's Field. I asked him if he 
was taking me to to the paupers' burying-ground, for I could 
not somehow bear to think that our little newsman's mother 
had had no better place to be laid away in. He answered: 

"'No, but if it hadn't been for one of your good churches 
down there in the city, she would have fared no better than all 
other paupers. You know the big mission church down on the 
avenue? Well, they couldn't think of burying their Sunday- 
school scholars in the Potter's Field, if they were "only pau- 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 13 

pers," many of them; and so several years ago they bought a 
big lot up here just for them, and there's where I'm taking 
you. Here it is,' he said, as we stopped in front of a big lot, 
nicely fixed up — and sure enough there was our monument, at 
the head of one of the larger graves. I knew it at once, just 
as it was when it left our yard, I was going to say, until I got 
a little nearer to it, and saw what the little chap had done. O 
boys, I can't describe to you the lettering on that stone. I 
will confess that something blurred my eyes so I couldn't read 
it at first. The little man had tried to keep the lines straight, 
and evidently thought that capitals would make it look better 
and bigger, for nearly every letter was a capital. I copied 
it, and here it is, but you want to see it on the stone to appre- 
ciate it: 

'MY mOTHER 

SHEE DIDE LAST WEAK. 

SHEE WAS ALL I HAD. SHEE 

SED SHEAD Bee WalTIN FUR—' 

And here, boys, the lettering stopped. After a while I went 
back to the man in charge, and asked him what further he 
knew of the little fellow who brought the stone. 

" 'Not much,' he said, 'not much. Didn't you notice a fresh 
little grave near the one with the stone? Well, he lies there. 
He had been coming here every afternoon for some time, work- 
ing away at that stone, and one day I missed him, and then for 
several days. Then the man came out from that church that 
had buried the mother and ordered the grave dug by her side. 
I asked if it was for the little chap. He said it was. He had 
sold his papers all out one day and was hurrying along the 
street out this way. He didn't notice the runaway team just 
above the crossing, and — well — he was run over, and didn't 
live but a day or two. He had in his hand when he was picked 
up an old file, sharpened down to a point, that he did all the 



14 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

lettering on that stone with. They said he seemed to be 
thinking only of that until he died, for he kept saying: "I 
didn't get it done, but she'll know I meant to finish it, won't 
she? I'll tell her so, for she'll be waiting for me.'" And, 
boys, he died with those words on his lips." 

We were still for a while; none of us wanted to say anything. 

"And now, boys, what shall we do?" said the man who had 
told us the story. 

" Do; why here is what I want to do," said one of the men, 
" get the best stone in the yard, and here's a V to begin it." 

We all threw in, and if we didn't get him the best stone, we 
got him a good one. Under his name — we got it from the 
superintendent of the school, and put it on because of the father, 
who might some day come back — we put: "He loved his 
mother;" and I'll warrant you will find no better lettering in 
that cemetery than you will find on that stone. 

The superintendent of the Sunday-school wanted us to let 
him know when we put up the stone, and a regular delegation 
of them went out with us, he and some of the teachers, all of 
the little newsman's class, and a good many of the other 
scholars, and the good man who built the church got into the 
city the night before and came out with them. He had heard 
something of the story from the teacher, but you ought to have 
seen him when he looked at those stones; the tears ran down 
his cheeks and he didn't try to stop them, either. 

He made a little speech, and after we had set the stone told 
the scholars how the little fellow had loved and worked for his 
mother, and how he had denied himself to put up this little 
stone to her memory. He told them that the little fellow loved 
the Saviour, too, and tried to live to please Him. 

"Children," he said, "I would rather be that brave, loving, 
Christian little newsboy, and lie there with that on my tomb- 
stone, than be king of the world and not love and respect my 
mother." 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 15 



THE TWO MYSTERIES. 



MARY MAPES DODGE. 



WE know not what it is, dear, this sleep so deep and still, 
The folded hands, the awful calm, the cheek so pale 
and chill, 
The lids that will not lift again, though we may call and call, 
The strange white solitude of peace that settles over all. 

We know not what it means, dear, this desolate heart-pain, 
The dread to take our daily way and walk in it again. 
We know not to what sphere the loved who leave us go, 
Nor why we're left to wonder still, nor why we do not know. 

But this we know, our loved and lost, if they should come this 

day, 
Should come and ask us, What is life? not one of us could say. 
Life is a mystery as deep as death can ever be ; 
Yet, oh, how sweet it is to us, this life we live and see! 

Then might they say, those vanished ones, and blessed is the 

thought, 
So death is sweet to us, beloved, though we may tell you 

naught; 
We may not tell it to the quick, this mystery of death; 
Ye may not tell it if ye would, the mystery of breath. 

The child who enters life comes not with knowledge or intent, 
So those who enter death must go as little children sent; 
Nothing is known, but I believe that God is overhead; 
And as life is to the living so death is to the dead. 



1 6 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 



NOT KNOWING. 



J KNOW not what will befall me, God hangs mist o'er my 
eyes: 
And o'er each step of my onward path He makes new scenes 

to rise, 
And every joy He sends me comes as a sweet and glad surprise. 

I see not a step before me, as I tread the days of the year; 
But the past is still in God's keeping, the future His mercy 

shall clear; 
And what looks dark in the distance may brighten as I draw 

near. 

For perhaps the dreaded future has less bitter than I think ; 
The Lord may sweeten the water before I stoop to drink ; 
Or, if Marah must be Marah, He will stand beside its brink. 

It may be He has waiting for the coming of my feet 

Some gift of such rare blessings, some joy so strangely sweet, 

That my life can only tremble with the thanks I can't repeat. 

restful, blissful ignorance! 'Tis blessed not to know; 
It keeps me quiet in the arms which will not let me go: 
And hushes my soul to rest on the bosom which loves me so. 

So I go on not knowing; I would not if I might; 

1 would rather walk in the dark with God than go alone in the 

light; 
I would rather walk with Him by faith than walk alone by 
sight. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 17 

My heart shrinks back from trials which the future may dis- 
close; 

Yet I never had a sorrow but what the dear Lord chose; 

So I send the coming tears back with the whispered words, 
" He knows." 



THE POOR CHILDREN. 



VICTOR HUGO. 



TAKE, of that little being, care, 
For he is great and God contains — 
Before their birth these infants are 
Lights in the heaven's azure fanes. 

They the kind hand of God bestows; 

They come and the free gift is His; 
His wisdom in their laughter shows, 

And His forgiveness in their kiss. 

Their gentle radiance makes us bright; 

Their right is pleasure to receive; 
They hunger! Heaven weeps at the sight, 

And when they're cold, the angels grieve. 

When innocence is in distress, 

Man it convicts of infamy. 
Men over angels power possess 

Ah, me! What thunders fill the sky 

When God — seeking those tender things 
Whom, as we slumber in this shade, 

He sends us decked in angels' wings — 
Finds them in rags and filth arrayed! 



18 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 



HASTE NOT— REST NOT. 



JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE. 

"Y\ 7ITHOUT haste! without rest! " 
VV Bind the motto to thy breast! 
Bear it with thee as a spell ; 
Storm or sunshine, guard it well! 
Heed not flowers that round thee bioom, 
Bear it onward to the tomb. 

Haste not! Let no thoughtless deed 
Mar fore'er the spirit's speed; 
Ponder well and know the right, 
Onward, then, with all thy might; 
Haste not — years can ne'er atone 
For one reckless action done. 

Rest not! Life is sweeping by, 
Do and dare before you die; 
Something mighty and sublime 
Leave behind to conquer time; 
Glorious 'tis to live for aye 
When these forms have passed away. 

Haste not! rest not! Calmly wait, 
Meekly bear the storms of fate; 
Duty be thy polar guide — 
Do the right, whate'er betide! 
Haste not! rest not! Conflicts past, 
God shall crown thy work at last. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 19 



BILLY'S FIRST AND LAST DRINK OF LAGER. 



[" Poy Pilly " was the adopted son of Father Zende, an eccentric Teuton, 
who was much shocked at seeing the boy in a saloon taking a glass of lager. 
He bade the boy go home, but said nothing about the matter till evening. 
After tea, Zende seated himself at the table, and placed before him a variety 
of queer things, whereon Billy looked with curiosity.] 

U |70MMEN sie hier, Pilly!" cried Zende. " Vy vast du in 

IV te peer shops to-tay, hein ? Vy trinks peer, mein poy ? " 

"Oh, oh, because it's good," said Billy, boldly. 

" No, Pilly, eet vast not gute to dein mout. I did see neffer 

so pig vaces als didst make, Pilly. Pilly, you dinks eet vill 

dast gute py-ant-py, and eet ees like a man to trink, ant so you 

trinks. Now, Pilly, eef it is gute, haf eet; ef it ees likes ein 

man, trinks, Pilly. I vill not hinders you vrom vat ees gute 

ant manly, mein shilt; but trinks at home, dakes your trink 

pure, Pilly, and lets me pays vor eet. Kom, mein poy! You 

likes peer. Veil, kom, open dein mout, hier I half all te peer 

stuff simons pure vrom te shops, mein poy. Kom, opens dein 

mout, ant I vill puts eet een." 

Billy drew near, but kept his mouth close shut. Said Zende, 
"Don' you makes me madt, Pilly! Opens dein mout! " 

Thus exhorted, Billy opened his mouth, and Zende put a 
small bit of alum in it. Billy drew up his face, but boys can 
stand alum. After a little, Zende cried, " Opens dein mout, 
peer ist not all alums!" And he dropped in a bit of aloes. 
This was worse. Billy winced. Again, "Opens dein mout! " 
The least morsel of red pepper, now, from a knife-point; but 
Billy howled. 

"Vat! not likes dein peer!" said Zende. "Opens dein 
mout!" just touched now with a knife-point dipped in oil of 
turpentine. Billy began to cry. "Opens dein mout, dein peer 
is not haf mate, yet, Pilly! " And Billy's tongue got the least 



20 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

dusting of lime and potash and saleratus. Billy now cried 
loudly. "Opens dein mout! " Unlucky Billy! This time 
about a grain of licorice, hop pollen, and saltpetre. 

"Looks, Pilly! Here ist some arsenic, and some strychnine; 
dese pelongs een te peer. Opens dein mout! " 

"I can't, I can't!" roared Billy. "Arsenic ant strychnine 
are to kill rats! I shall die — O — O — O — do you want to kill 
me, Father Zende?" 

" Kills him ; joost py ein leetle peer ! all gute ant pure ! He 
dells me he likes peer, ant eet ees manly to trinks eet, ant ven 
I gives heem te peer he cries I kills heem! So, Pilly, hier 
ees water; dere ist mooch water een peer — trinks dat! " 

Billy drank the water eagerly. Zende went on, "Ant, dere 
ees mooch alcohol een peer. Hier! opens dein mout! " and he 
dropped four drops of raw spirit carefully on his tongue. Billy 
went dancing about the room, and then ran for more water. 

" Kommen sie hier, dein peer ist not done, Pilly," shouted 
Zende ; and, seizing him, he put the cork of an ammonia bottle to 
his lips, then a drop of honey, a taste of sugar, a drop of 
molasses, a drop of gall; then, "Pilly! hier ist more of dein 
peer! Hier ist jalap, copperas, sulphuric acid, acetic acid, 
ant nux vomica; opens dein mout! " 

"Oh, no, no! Let me go! I hate beer! I'll never drink any 
more! I'll never go in that shop again; I'll be a good boy — 
I'll sign the pledge. Oh, let me be! I can't eat those things! 
I'll die! My mouth tastes awful now. Oh, take 'em away, 
Father Zende! " 

" Dakes 'emavay? dakes avay dein gute peer?" cried the 
old man, innocently, "ven I hafs pait vor eet, and mein Pilly 
can trink eet pure at hees home, likes ein shentilman ! Vy, poy, 
dese ist te makin's of peer, ant you no likes dem? All dese 
honey, ant sugar, ant vater, poy ? " 

" But the other things. Oh, the other things — they are the 
biggest part — ugh! they make me sick. " 




FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 21 

" Mein poy, you trinks dem fast to-tay! Look, Pilly — a 
man he trinks all dese pad dings mix up een vater, ant call peer. 
Ach! he gets redt in hees faces, he gets pig een hees poddy, he 
gets shaky een hees hands, he gets clumsy on hees toes, he gets 
veak een hees eyes, he gets pad een hees breat, he gets mean een 
hees manners. Vy! Pilly, you sees vy. All dese dings on 
mein dable ees vy! " 

Happy Billy! Few boys get so good a temperance lecture, 
such home thrusts, such practical experiments as fall to your 
lot. Billy was satisfied on the beer question. 

" He ees all gute now," said Zende. " I hafs no more drou- 
bles mit mein Pilly." 



ADVICE TO A HARD STUDENT. 



STILL vary thy incessant task, nor plod each weary day 
As if thy life were thing of earth — a servant to its clay. 
Alternate with thy honest work some contemplations high: 
Though toil be just, though gold be good, look upward to the 
sky. 

Take pleasure for thy limbs at morn; at noontide wield the 

pen ; 
Converse to-night with moon and stars; to-morrow talk with 

men. 
Cull garlands in the fields and bowers, or toy with running 

brooks; 
Then rifle in thy chamber lone the honey of thy books. 

If in the wrestlings of the mind a gladiator strong, 
Give scope and freedom to thy thought, but strive not over- 
long. 
Climb to the mountain-top serene, and let life's surges beat, 
With all their whirl of striving men, far, far beneath thy feet. 



JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

But stay not ever on the height, 'mid intellectual snow, 

Come down betimes to tread the grass, and roam where wa- 
ters flow; 

Come down betimes to rub thy hands at the domestic hearth; 

Come down to share the warmth of love, and join the children's 
mirth. 



BRAHMA. 



The following from " Dschelaleddin Rumi " (translated by Ritter) describes 
the god Brahma, and is probably the only poem in the world which comes 
anywhere near picturing the great Creator of all things. The Brahmin's 
belief is that everything that is, is God. 

I AM the mote in the sunbeam, and I am the burning sun; 
"Rest here!" I whisper the atom; I call to the orb, 
"Roll on!" 

I am the blush of the morning, and I am the evening breeze; 

I am the leaf's low murmur, the swell of the terrible seas. 

I am the net, the fowler, the bird and its frightened cry; 

The mirror, the form reflected, the sound and its echo, I; 

The lover's passionate pleading, the maiden's whispered fear; 

The warrior, the blade that smites him, his mother's heart- 
wrung tear; 

I am intoxication, grapes, wine-press and musk and wine, 

The guest, the host, the traveller, the goblet of crystal fine. 

I am the breath of the flute, I am the mind of man. 

Gold's glitter, the light of the diamond, and the sea pearl's 
lustre wan; 

The rose, her poet nightingale, and the songs from his throat 
that rise; 

The flint, the sparks, the taper, the moth that about it flies; 

I am both Good and Evil, the deed and the deed's intent J 

Temptation, victim, sinner, crime, pardon, and punishment; 

I am what was, is, will be — creation's ascent and fall; 

The link, the chain of existence; beginning and end of all. 



FA VORITE SELECTIONS. 23 

BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES. 



DURING one of last summer's hottest days, I had the good 
fortune to be seated in a railway car near a mother and 
four children, whose relations with each other were singularly 
beautiful. It was plain that they were poor. The mother's 
bonnet alone would have been enough to condemn the whole in 
any one of the world's thoroughfares, but her face was one 
which it gave a sense of rest to look upon; it was earnest, 
tender, true, and strong. The children — two boys and two 
girls — were all under the age of twelve, and the youngest could 
not speak plainly. 

They had had a rare treat. They had been visiting the 
mountains, and were talking over the wonders they had seen 
with a glow of enthusiastic delight which was to be envied ; and 
the mother bore her part all the while with such equal interest 
and eagerness, that no one not seeing her face would have 
dreamed that she was any other than an elder sister. 

In the course of the day there were many occasions when it 
was necessary for her to deny requests and to ask services, 
especially from the elder boy, but no girl anxious to please a 
lover could have done either with a more tender courtesy. She 
had her reward, for no lover could have been more tender 
and manly than was the boy of twelve. 

Their lunch was simple and scanty, but it had the grace of 
a royal banquet. At the last the mother produced with much 
glee three apples and an orange, of which the children had 
not known. All eyes fastened on the orange. It was evidently 
a great rarity. I watched to see if this test would bring out 
selfishness. The mother said: "How shall I divide this? 
There is one for each of you, and I shall be best off of all, for 
I expect big tastes from each of you." 

"Oh, give Annie the orange! Annie loves oranges," spoke 



24 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

out the elder boy, with the air of a conqueror, at the same 
time taking the smallest and worst apple for himself. " Oh, 
yes, let Annie have the orange," echoed the second boy, nine 
years old. 

" Yes, Annie may have the orange, because it is nicer than 
the apple, and she is a lady and her brothers are gentlemen," 
said the mother, quietly. Then there was a merry contest as 
to who should feed the mother with the largest and most 
frequent mouthfuls; and so the feast went on. 

Then Annie pretended to want apple, and exchanged thin 
golden strips of orange for bites out of the cheeks of Baldwins; 
and as I sat watching her intently, she suddenly fancied she 
saw a longing in my face, and sprang over to me, saying, " Do 
you want a taste, too ? " 

The mother smiled understandingly when I said, " No, I 
thank you, you dear, generous little girl; I don't care about 
oranges." 

At noon we had a tedious interval of waiting at a dreary 
station. We sat for two hours on a narrow platform which the 
sun had scorched till it smelt of heat. The elder boy, the 
little lover, held the youngest child and talked to her, while 
the tired mother closed her eyes and rested. 

The other two children were toiling up and down the rail- 
road banks, picking ox-eyed daisies, buttercups, and sorrel. 
They worked like beavers, and soon the bunches were almost 
too big for their little hands. They came running to give 
them to their mother. 

"Oh, dear!" thought I; "how that poor tired woman will 
hate to open her eyes! and she never can take those great 
bunches of wilting, worthless flowers in addition to her bundles 
and bags." I was mistaken. 

"Oh, thank you, my darlings! How kind you were! Poor, 
hot tired little flowers, how thirsty they look! If they will 
try and keep alive till we get home, we will make them very 



«■- FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 25 

happy in some water, won't we? And you shall put one bunch 
by papa's plate and one by mine." 

Sweet and happy, the weary and flushed little children stood 
looking up in her face while she talked, their hearts thrilling 
with compassion for the drooping flowers, and with delight in 
giving their gift. Then she took great trouble to get a string 
and tie up the flowers; and the train came, and we were whirl- 
ing along again. 

Soon it grew dark, and little Annie's head nodded. Then 
I heard the mother say to the elder boy, "Dear, are you too 
tired to let little Annie put her head on your shoulder and take 
a nap? We shall get' her home in much better case to her 
papa, if we can manage to give her a little sleep.''" How many 
little boys of twelve hear such words as these from tired, over- 
burdened mothers? 

Soon came the city, the final station, with its bustle and noise. 
I lingered to watch my happy family, hoping to see the father. 
" Why, papa isn't here!" exclaimed one disappointed little 
voice after another. " Never mind," said the mother, with a 
still deeper disappointment in her tone; " perhaps he had to go 
to see some poor body who is sick." 

In the hurry of picking up all the parcels and the sleepy 
babies, the poor daisies and buttercups were left forgotten in 
the corner of the rack. I wondered if the mother had not in- 
tended this. May I be forgiven for the injustice! A few 
minutes after I had passed the little group, standing still just 
outside the station, I heard the mother say: "Oh, my darlings, 
I have forgotten your pretty bouquets. I am so sorry ! I won- 
der if I could find them if I went back? Will you all stand 
still and not stir from this spot, if I go ?" 

"Oh, mamma, don't go! We will get you some more. 
Don't go! " cried all the children. 

"Here are your flowers, madam," said I. "I saw you had 
forgotten them, and I took them as mementos of you and your 



26 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

sweet children." She blushed and looked disconcerted. She 
was evidently unused to people, and shy with all but her 
children. 

However, she thanked me sweetly, and said: " I was very 
sorry about them. The children took such trouble to get 
them, and I think they will revive in water. They cannot be 
quite dead." 

"They will never die! " said I with an emphasis which went 
from my heart to hers. Then all her shyness fled. We shook 
hands, and smiled into each other's eyes with the smile of 
kindred as we parted. 

As I followed on, I heard the two children who were walking 
behind saying to each other : " Wouldn't that have been too bad ? 
Mamma liked them so much, and we never could have got so 
many all at once again." 

"Yes, we could, too, next summer," said the boy, sturdily. 

They are sure of their "next summer," I think, all of those 
six souls — children, and mother, and father. They may never 
raise so many ox-eyed daisies and buttercups " all at once." 
Perhaps some of the little hands have already picked their last 
flowers. Nevertheless their summers are certain to such souls 
as these, either here or in God's larger country. 



GOLDEN-ROD. 



C. A. KIEFE. 

GOLDEN-ROD, nodding a welcome, golden-rod, bonny and 
bright, 
You bring to my mind a picture, as you wave in the wind 

to-night — 
Glory of August sunshine, music of birds and bees, 
Hum of a thousand insects, shadow of apple-trees. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 27 

Close by the dusty roadside, perched on a railing high, 
Right where the scorching sun-kiss darts from the blazing sky, 
Two happy, sun-browned children, careless and glad and gay, 
Dream out their dreams of Elfland through the long summer 
day. 

Hats at their feet are lying — they do not heed the glare, 
While to their childish fancies visions throng, passing fair. 
Each is a fairy princess, mounted on steed so fleet 
Scarcely the ground he touches with his fast-flying feet. 

Each is a fairy princess, each has a golden crown, 
Pressing the sunburnt forehead guiltless of care's dark frown. 
Each has a fairy sceptre — sceptres that sway and nod; 
Sceptres and crowns are blossoms — blossoms of golden-rod. 

Is there a spell still hidden deep in your cells of gold, 
Such as gave peasant children castles and lands to hold? 
Such as transformed a fence-rail into a panting steed ? 
Such as made yellow blossoms sceptres of gold, indeed? 

Golden-rod, nodding a welcome, weave once again the spell! 
And, with your old-time magic, heal me and make me well! 
Soothe my tired brain with fancies — dreams that have never 

been! 
Show me again the glories I have in Elfland seen! 

What have the long years brought me that is worth half as 

much ? 
Come back, child-heart, still hidden safe from the world's rude 

touch ! 
We will forget earth's struggles, sitting on yon green sod; 
We will go back to Elfland, here, with the golden-rod. 



28 



JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 



TO A SKELETON. 



BEHOLD this ruin! 'Twas a skull 
Once of ethereal spirit full. 
This narrow cell was life's retreat, 
This space was thought's mysterious seat. 
What beauteous visions filled this spot, 
What dreams of pleasure long forgot. 
Nor hope, nor joy, nor love, nor fear, 
Have left one trace of record here. 

Beneath this mouldering canopy 

Once shone the bright and busy eye, 

But start not at the dismal void — 

If social love that eye employed, 

If with no lawless fire it gleamed, 

But through the dews of kindness beamed, 

That eye shall be forever bright 

When stars and sun are sunk in night. 






Within this hollow cavern hung 

The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue; 

If falsehood's honey it disdained, 

And when it could not praise was chained 

If bold in virtue's cause it spoke, 

Yet gentle concord never broke — 

This silent tongue shall plead for thee 

When time unveils eternity! 



Say, did these fingers delve the mine? 
Or with the envied rubies shine? 
To hew the rock or wear a gem 
Can little now avail to them. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 29 

But if the page of truth they sought, 
Or comfort to the mourner brought, 
These hands a richer meed shall claim 
Than all that wait on wealth and fame. 

Avails it whether bare or shod 
These feet the paths of duty trod ? 
If from the bowers of ease they fled 
To seek affliction's humble shed; 
If grandeur's guilty bribe they spurned, 
And home to virtue's cot returned — 
These feet with angel wings shall vie, 
And tread the palace of the sky! 



REVELATION. 



NEVER say, I do not know; 
Say I tell, and earth no ear; 
Let the sibyl spirals flow 

Down the cycles near and near. 

Never say, I cannot do; 

Say I will, and wait thou there; 
Truth, the white-winged, bears the true, 

And the true the truth shall bear. 

Never say, I cannot see; 

Look, believing, O ye blind! 
Till the grander work shall be 

On the palimpsest of mind. 

Never say, or dumb or deaf; 

Look on Him, and know, and do; 
So translate His hieroglyph; 

Let the God reveal in you. 



3© JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

THE BEAUTIFUL. 




E. H. BURR1NGT0N. 



WALK with the Beautiful and with the Grand; 
Let nothing on the earth thy feet deter; 
Sorrow may lead thee weeping by the hand, 
But give not all thy bosom thoughts to her. 
Walk with the Beautiful! 

I hear thee say: "The Beautiful! what is it? " 

Oh, thou art darkly ignorant! Be sure 
'Tis no long, weary road its form to visit, 

For thou canst make it smile beside thy door: 
Then love the Beautiful! 

Ay, love it! 'Tis a sister that will bless 

And teach thee patience when thy heart is lonely; 

The angels love it, for they wear its dress, 

And thou art made a little lower only; 

Then love the Beautiful ! 

Some boast its presence in a Grecian face, 

Some in a favorite warbler of the skies; 
Be not deceived! Whate'er thy eye may trace, 

Seeking the Beautiful, it will arise: 
Then seek it everywhere! 

Thy bosom is its mint; the workmen are 

Thy thoughts, and they must coin for thee. Believing 
The Beautiful exists in every star, 

Thou mak'st it so, and art thyself deceiving 
If otherwise thy faith. 




FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 31 

Dost thou see beauty in the violet's cup? 

I'll teach thee miracles. Walk on this heath, 
And say to the neglected flowers : " Look up, 

And be ye beautiful!" If thou hast faith, 
They will obey thy word. 

One thing I warn thee: bow no knee to gold; 

Less innocent it makes the guileless tongue; 
It turns the feelings prematurely old, 

And they who keep their best affections young 
Best love the Beautiful! 



LIBERTY AND INDEPENDENCE. 

THERE was tumult in the city, 
In the quaint old Quaker town, 
And the streets were rife with people 

Pacing restless up and down ; 
People gathering at corners, 

Where they whispered each to each, 
And the sweat stood on their temples, 
With the earnestness of speech. 

As the bleak Atlantic currents 

Lash the wild Newfoundland shore, 
So they beat against the State House, 

So they surged against the door; 
And the mingling of their voices 

Made a harmony profound, 
Till the quiet street of Chestnut 

Was all turbulent with sound. 



32 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

" Will they do it ? " " Dare they do it ? " 

" Who is speaking ? " " What's the news ? 
" What of Adams ? " " What of Sherman ? " 

" God! grant they won't refuse." 
" Make some way there! " " Let me nearer! 

" I am stifling ! " " Stifle, then ! 
When a nation's life's at hazard, 

We've no time to think of men." 

So they beat against the portal, 

Man and woman, maid and child; 
And the July sun in heaven 

On the scene looked down and smiled. 
The same sun that saw the Spartan 

Shed his patriot blood in vain, 
Now beheld the soul of freedom, 

All unconquered rise again. 

See! see! the dense crowd quivers 

Through all its lengthy line, 
As the boy beside the portal 

Looks forth to give the sign; 
With his little hands uplifted, 

Breezes dallying with his hair, 
Hark! with deep, clear intonation 

Breaks his young voice on the air. 

Hushed the people's swelling murmur, 

List the boy's exulting cry! 
"Ring! " he shouts, "ring! grandpa, 

Ring! oh, ring for Liberty! " 
Quickly at the given signal 

The old bellman lifts his hand, 
Forth he sends the good news, making 

Iron music through the land. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 

How they shouted! What rejoicing! 

How the old bell shook the air, 
Till the clang of freedom ruffled 

The calmly gliding Delaware! 
How the bonfires and the torches * 

Lighted up the night's repose! 
And from flames, like fabled Phcenix, 

Our glorious liberty arose. 

That old State House bell is silent, 

Hushed is now its clamorous tongue; 
But the spirit it awakened 

Still is living — ever young; 
And when we greet the smiling sunlight, 

On the fourth of each July, 
We will ne'er forget the bellman, 

Who, betwixt the earth and sky, 
Rang out loudly "Independence," 

Which, please God, shall never die. 



GOD'S APPOINTMENTS. 



EMMA C. DOWD. 

TWO men went forth one summer hour, 
And both were young and brave and true 
Two loyal hearts, two brains of power, 
Eager to dare and do. 

Each followed right, each turned from wrong, 

And strove his errors to outlive; 
Each sought with hope and courage strong 

The best life has to give. 
3 



54 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

For one love's fountain yielded up 
Its sweetness — royally he quaffed; 

The other drank a brimming cup, 
A bitter, bitter draught. 

One touched but stones, they turned to gold, 
Wealth came and staid at his command ; 

The other's silver turned to mold 
And dust within his hand. 

The world crowned one with leaves of bay. 

He ate with kings, their honors shared; 
The other trod a barren way, 

And few men knew or cared. 

And this is life: two sow, one reaps; 

Two run abreast, one gains the goal; 
One laughs aloud, the other weeps 

In anguish of his soul. 

One seems of fate the helpless toy, 
Unbroken one's triumphant chain; 

God hath appointed one to joy, 
Appointed one to pain. 

The wisdom that doth rule the world 
Is wisdom far beyond our ken ; 

But when all seems to ruin hurled, 
God's hand is mighty then. 

In God's appointments I believe. 

Trusting His love, believe in this: 
That though from day to day men grieve, 

And life's sweet fruitage miss, 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 35 

In some glad future they shall know- 
Why one through striving may not win; 

The Book of Life will surely show 
Why all these things have been. 



WHAT OF THAT? 



TIRED ! Well, what of that? 
Didst fancy life was spent on beds of ease, 
Fluttering the rose-leaves scattered by the breeze ? 
Come, rouse thee, work while it is called to-day! 
Coward, arise! go forth upon thy way! 

Lonely! And what of that? 
Some must be lonely! 'tis not given to all 
To feel a heart responsive rise and fall, 
To blend another life into its own — 
Work may be done in loneliness. Work on. 

Dark! Well, and what of that? 
Didst fondly dream the sun would never set ? 
Dost fear to lose thy way ? Take courage yet ! 
Learn thou to walk by faith and not by sight, 
Thy steps will guided be, and guided right. 

Hard! Well, and what of that? 
Didst fancy life one summer holiday, 
With lessons none to learn, and naught but play ? 
Go, get thee to thy task! Conquer or die! 
It must be learned! Learn it, then, patiently. 

No help? Nay, 'tis not so! 
Though human help be far, thy God is nigh; 
Who feeds the ravens, hears His children cry. 
He's near thee, whereso'er thy footsteps roam, 
And He will guide thee, light thee, help thee home. 



36 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

THE ELEVENTH HOUR. 



ANNA L. RUTH. 

WHIST, sir! Would ye plaze to speak aisy, 
And sit ye down there by the dure ? 
She sleeps, sir, so light and so restless, 

She hears every step on the flure. 
What ails her? God knows! She's been weakly 

For months, and the heat dhrives her wild; 
The summer has wasted and worn her 
Till she's only the ghost of a child. 

All I have? Yes, she is, and God help me! 

I'd three little darlints beside, 
As purty as iver ye see, sir, 

But wan by wan dhrooped like, and died. 
What was it that tuk them, ye're askin' ? 

Why, poverty, shure, and no doubt ; 
They perished for food and fresh air, sir, 

Like flowers dhried up in a drought. 

'Twas dhreadful to lose them? Ah, was it! 

It seemed like my heart-sthrings would break! 
But there's days whin wid want and wid sorrow, 

I'm thankful they're gone, for their sake. 
Their father? Well, sir, saints forgive me! 

It's a foul tongue that lowers its own; 
But what wid the sthrikes and the liquor, 

I'd betther be sthrugglin' alone. 

Do I want to kape this wan? The darlint! 

The last and the darest of all ! 
Shure you're niver a father yourself, sir, 

Or ye wouldn't be askin' at all. 






FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 37 

What is that? Milk and food for the baby! 

A docther and medicine free! 
You're huntin' out all the sick children, 

An' poor, toilin' mothers, like me! 

God bless you and thim that have sent you ! 

A new life you've given me, so. 
Shure, sir, wont you look in the cradle 

At the colleen you've saved, 'fore you go? 
O mother o' mercies! have pity! 

O darlint, why couldn't you wait! 
Dead! dead! an' the help in the dureway! 

Too late! O my baby! Too late! 



UP-HILL. 



CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI. 



DOES the road wind up-hill all the way? 
Yes, to the very end. 
Will the day's journey take the whole long day? 
From morn to night, my friend. 

But is there for the night a resting-place ? 

A roof for when the slow dark hours begin. 
May not the darkness hide it from my face ? 

You cannot miss that inn. 

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night? 

Those who have gone before. 
Then must I knock, or call when just in sight? 

They will not keep you standing at that door. 



3 8 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak ? 

Of labor you shall find the sum. 
Will there be beds for me and all who seek ? 

Yea, beds for all who come. 



JUDGE NOT. 

HOW do we know what hearts have sin? 
How do we know ? 
Many like sepulchres, are foul within 

Whose outward garb is spotless as the snow, 
And many may be pure we think not so. 
How near to God the souls of such have been, 
What mercies secret penitence may win — 
How do we know? 

How can we tell who sinneth more than we ? 

Who can tell ? 
We think our brother walketh guiltily, 

Judging him in self-righteousness. Ah, well! 
Perhaps had we been driven through the hell 
Of his untold temptations, less upright we 
In our daily walk might be than he — 
How can we tell ? 

Dare we condemn the ills that others do? 

Dare we condemn ? 
Their strength is small, their trials not a few, 
The tide of wrong is difficult to stem, 
And if to us more clearly than to them 
Is given knowledge of the good and true, 
More do they need our help, and pity, too — 
Dare we condemn ? 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 39 

God help us all, and lead us day by day, 

God help us all! 
We cannot walk alone the perfect way, 

Evil allures us, tempts us, and we fall — 
We are but human, and our power is small ; 
Not one of us may boast, and not a day 
Rolls o'er our heads but each hath need to say, 
God bless us all! 



UNFULFILLED. 



WE'LL read that book, we'll sing that song, 
But when? Oh, when the days are long; 
When thoughts are free, and voices clear; 
Some happy time within the year — 
The days troop by with noiseless tread, 
The song unsung; the book unread. 

We'll see that friend, and make him feel 
The weight of friendship, true as steel ; 
Some flower of sympathy bestow — 
But time sweeps on with steady flow, 
Until with quick, reproachful tear, 
We lay our flowers upon his bier. 

And still we walk the desert sands, 
And still with trifles fill our hands, 
While ever, just beyond our reach, 
A fairer purpose shows to each. 
The deeds we have not done, but willed, 
Remain to haunt us — unfulfilled. 



40 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 



TRYING TO GET EVEN DON'T PAY. 

SOME people's shoulders are loaded with chips, 
They're looking for insults and slights, 
And sometimes the days seem almost too short, 

And then they lie awake nights 
Thinking and planning what they will do, 

And how they'll get even with those 
Who thoughtlessly knock from their shoulders a chip, 
Or carelessly step on their toes. 

All of which leads me to say 
That for trouble and grief, 
It's my honest belief 
Trying to get even don't pay. 

I know it is natural to hit people back, 
And give them as good as they send; 
And also I know that wrangling and strife 

Must some time come to an end. 
It's better, by far, to put up with a grief 

And appear to submit to a wrong, 
Than try to " get even," the way of the world, 
And most of us go with the throng. 

All of which leads me to say 
That for trouble and grief, 
It's my honest belief 
Trying to get even don't pay. 

As the world is made up there's very few saints, 
And there's very few more to be born; 

The average man looks out for himself 
All day from the earliest morn. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 4* 

Trying to " get even " is a natural trait 
Since the time of " Old Adam's " fall, 
But experience shows, as every one knows, 
That " honey " is cheaper than " gall." 
All of which leads me to say 
That for trouble and grief, 
It's my honest belief 
Trying to get even don't pay. 



A CHILD'S THOUGHT OF GOD. 



ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 

THEY say that God lives very high, 
But if you look above the pines 
You cannot see our God ; and why ? 

And if you dig down in the mines 
You never see Him in the gold, 
Though from Him all that glory shines. 

God is so good, He wears a fold 

Of heaven and earth across His face — 
Like secrets kept, for love, untold. 

But still I feel that His embrace 

Slides down by thrills, through all things made, 
Through sight and sound of every place. 

As if my tender mother laid 

On my shut lids her kisses' pressure, 
Half-waking me at night, and said, 

"Who kissed you through the dark, dear guesser? 



4 2 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 



TIRED. 



I AM tired. Heart and feet 
Turn from busy mart and street. 
I am tired; rest is sweet. 

I am tired. I have played 
In the sunshine and the shade; 
I have seen the flowers fade. 

I am tired. I have had 
What has made my spirit glad, 
What has made my spirit sad. 

I am tired. Loss and gain, 
Golden sheaves and scattered grain, 
Day has not been spent in vain. 

I am tired. Eventide 
Bids me lay my cares aside, 
Bids me in my hopes abide. 

I am tired. God is near, 
Let me sleep without a fear, 
Let me die without a tear 

I am tired. I would rest 
As the bird within its nest; 
I am tired. Home is best. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 43 



AFTER ELECTION. 



ANNIE THOMAS. 



COURAGE! Fight, on ye valiant ones, 
Though weary, faint and few. 
Have patience! Soon the right will gain 
God is the Leader true. 

While brothers all around us die 

The battle ne'er give o'er; 
While sisters' anguished sobs are heard 

Be stronger than before. 

While children — naked, hungry, weak, 

Their pleading voices raise; 
While wives with broken hearts and hopes 

No longer upward gaze; 

While man on level with the brute 
Is brought by liquor's power, 

Robbed of his manhood, strength and will- 
Disgrace his children's dower; 

While heartless, selfish men deal out 
The poisonous, murderous drink, 

Encircled by the law's broad arm 
But held just on the brink; 

While laws are under rum's control 
And men are bought and sold — 

Hold high the banner of the free, 
Press onward, brave and bold! 



44 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

Let naught thy progress interpose; 

Lay party interests by; 
For principle, for right, for God, 

Strike! fight! conquer! or die. 



LITTLE ROCKET'S CHRISTMAS. 



VANDYKE BROWN. 

I'LL tell you how the Christmas came 
To Rocket — no, you never met him, 
That is, you never knew his name, 

Although 'tis possible you've let him 
Display his skill upon your shoes; 
A boot-black — arab, if you choose. 

And who was Rocket? Well, an urchin, 
A gamin, dirty, torn, and tattered, 

Whose chiefest pleasure was to perch in 
The Bowery gallery; there it mattered 

But little what the play might be — 

Broad farce or point-lace comedy — 

He meted out his just applause 

By rigid, fixed, and proper laws. 

A father once he had, no doubt, 

A mother on the Island staying, 
Which left him free to knock about 

And gratify a taste for straying. 
An ash-box served him for a bed — 

As good, at least, as Moses' rushes — 
And for his daily meat and bread, 

He earned them with his box and brushes. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 45 

An arab of the city's slums, 

With ready tongue and empty pocket, 
Unaided left to solve life's sums, 

But plucky always — that was Rocket! 
'Twas Christmas eve, and all the day 

The snow had fallen fine and fast; 
In banks and drifted heaps it lay 

Along the streets. A piercing blast 
Blew cuttingly. The storm was past, 
And now the stars looked coldly down 
Upon the snow-enshrouded town. 
Ah, well it is if Christmas brings 
Good-will and peace which poet sings! 
How full are all the streets to-night 
With happy faces, flushed and bright! 
For all the world is glad to-night! 
All, did I say? Ah, no, not all, 
For sorrow throws on some its pall. 



But Rocket ? On this Christmas eve 

You might have seen him standing where 
The city's streets so interweave 

They form that somewhat famous square 
Called Printing House. His face was bright, 

And at this gala, festive season 
You could not find a heart more light — 

I'll tell you in a word the reason: 
By dint of patient toil in shining 

Patrician shoes and Wall Street boots, 
He had within his jacket's lining 

A dollar and a half — the fruits 
Of pinching, saving, and a trial 
Of really Spartan self-denial. 



46 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

That dollar and a half was more 
Than Rocket ever owned before. 
A princely fortune, so he thought, 

And with those hoarded dimes and nickels 
What Christmas pleasures may be bought! 

A dollar and a half! It tickles 
The boy to say it over, musing 
Upon the money's proper using; 
"I'll go a gobbler, leg and breast, 

With cranberry sauce and fixin's nice, 
And pie, mince pie, the very best, 

And puddin' — say a double slice! 
And then to doughnuts how I'll freeze; 
With coffee — guess that ere's the cheese! 
And after grub I'll go to see 
The 'Seven Goblins of Dundee.' 
If thisyere Christmas ain't a buster, 
I'll let yer rip my Sunday duster!" 

So Rocket mused as he hurried along, 

Clutching his money with grasp yet tighter, 
And humming the air of a rollicking song, 

With a heart as light as his clothes — or lighter. 
Through Centre Street he makes his way, 

When, just as he turns the corner at Pearl, 
He hears a voice cry out in dismay, 

And sees before him a slender girl,' 
As ragged and tattered in dress as he, 
With hand stretched forth for charity. 

In the street-light's fitful and flickering glare 

He caught a glimpse of the pale, pinched face- 
So gaunt and wasted, yet strangely fair 

With a lingering touch of childhood's grace 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 47 

On her delicate features. Her head was bare 
And over her shoulders disordered there hung 

A mass of tangled, nut-brown hair. 

In misery old as in years she was young, 

She gazed in his face. And, oh ! for the eyes — 

The big, blue, sorrowful, hungry eyes — 

That were fixed in a desperate, frightened stare. 



Hundreds have jostled her by to-night — 

The rich, the great, the good, and the wise, 
Hurrying on to the warmth and light 
Of happy homes — they have jostled her by, 
And the only one who has heard her cry, 
Or, hearing, has felt his heartstrings stirred, 
Is Rocket — this youngster of coarser clay, 
This gamin, who never so much as heard 
The beautiful story of Him who lay 
In the manger of old on Christmas day! 

With artless pathos and simple speech, 
She stands and tells him her pitiful tale; 

She tells of the terrible battle for bread, 
Tells of a father brutal with crime, 

Tells of a mother lying dead, 

At this, the gala Christmas-time; 

Then adds, gazing up at the starlit sky, 

" I'm hungry and cold, and I wish I could die. 

What is it trickles down the cheek 

Of Rocket — can it be a tear? 
He stands and stares, but does not speak ; 

He thinks again of that good cheer 



48 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

Which Christmas was to bring; he sees 

Visions of turkey, steaming pies, 
The play-bill — then, in place of these 

The girl's beseeching, hungry eyes; 
One mighty effort, gulping down 

The disappointment in his breast, 
A quivering of the lip, a frown, 

And then, while pity pleads her best, 
He snatches forth his cherished hoard, 
And gives it to her like a lord! 

" Here, freeze to that; I'm flush, yer see, 
And then you needs it more 'an me! " 
With that he turns and walks away, 
So fast the girl can nothing say, 
So fast he does not hear the prayer 
That sanctifies the winter air. 
But He who blessed the widow's mite 
Looked down and smiled upon the sight. 

No feast of steaming pies or turkey, 

No ticket for the matinee, 
All drear and desolate and murky, 

In truth, a very dismal day. 
With dinner on a crust of bread, 

And not a penny in his pocket, 
A friendly ash-box for a bed — 

Thus came the Christmas day to Rocket, 
And yet — and here's the strangest thing — 

As best befits the festive season, 
The boy was happy as a king — 

I wonder can you guess the reason ? 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 49 



GRADATIM. 



J. G. HOLLAND. 



HEAVEN is not reached at a single bound; 
But we build the ladder by which we rise 
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, 
j\nd we mount to the summit round by round. 

I count this thing to be grandly true; 
That a noble deed is a step toward God 
Lifting the soul from the common sod 

To a purer air and a broader view. 

We rise by things that are under our feet: 

By what we have mastered of good and gain; 
By the pride deposed and the passion slain, 

And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet. 

We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust, 
When the morning calls us to life and light; 
But our hearts grow weary, and ere the night 

Our lives are trailing the sordid dust. 

We hope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray, 

And we think that we mount the air on wings 
Beyond the recall of sensual things, 

While our feet still cling to the heavy clay. 

Wings for the angels, but feet for the men ! 
We may borrow the wings to find the way — 
We may hope, and resolve, and aspire, and pray 

But our feet must rise, or we fall again. 
4 



5© JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

Only in dreams is a ladder thrown 

From the weary earth to the sapphire walls; 
But the dreams depart, and the vision falls, 

And the sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone. 

Heaven is not reached at a single bound; 
But we build the ladder by which we rise 
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, 

And we mount to the summit round by round. 



JOHN'S MISTAKE. 



MOLLY BRANDE. 



WITH sombre mien and thought-beclouded brow, 
He laid aside the paper that ere now 
Had solely his attention occupied, 
And then with trembling hand he brushed aside 
The single tear, that was so very small 
One well might doubt its presence there at all. 

"What is it, John?" inquired his anxious wife, 
The partner of his joys and woes through life; 
"What gloomy passage was it that you read? 
Our friends, my dear — ah! surely, none are dead? 
Quick! speak! relieve my heart of painful doubt! 
What is it that you feel so sad about ? " 

"Wife," he replied, "I will confide in thee. 
Before you saw and fell in love with me, 
A score of maidens, first and last, I think, 
Had also fallen over the same brink; 
And one there Was, whose name to-night I see 
Among the married. Once she loved but me. 



FA VORITE SELECTIONS. 

" But as I could not wed with more than one, 
I married you, and Kate was left alone^ 
And I am thinking now of all the years 
In store for her, all fraught with bitter tears; 
For women, dear, do not so soon forget, 
And in her heart, no doubt, she loves me yet. 

" And now I learn that she, through pique~or spite, 
Was married to Tom Jones on yesternight — 
As if Tom Jones could ever me replace 
Or from her heart her love for me erase ! 
Of course, I feel myself somewhat to blame 
That Kate so suddenly should change her name. 

Then, with a merry laugh, his wife replied, 
"O John, do cease! " then laughed until she cried, 
Then cried until again she laughed with glee; 
While John, quite mystified, declared that he 
" Had ne'er beheld such conduct in his wife, 
And hoped he never would again through life." 

"But, John! " she cried, "do listen while I tell 

How long Kate loved you, and — O my! how well. 

She and I, you know, were girls together, 

And always told our secrets to each other; 

And once she told me, John, that you in vain 

Had sought her hand " — and then she laughed again. 

"And, John, she said — but don't be angry, dear — 
That she refused you, and expressed a fear 
That you some act of rashness would commit, 
And begged me love you just a little bit. 
And so I tried; you know the sequel, dear: 
You turned from her to me; 'twas very queer." 



JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

John bit his lip in ill-concealed distaste, 

And something murmured low of "youth," and "haste, 

And "boyish fancies" and "a girl's conceit," 

Too indistinctly uttered to repeat. 

But you and I, of course, wi'th half a look, 

See that John wore his boot on the wrong foot. 

And Mrs. John, within her merry breast, 
Regarded John's mistake too good a jest 
To keep. So after many an earnest charge 
That I should keep it from the world at large, 
She told it. me; but I, being rather weak, 
Have found the secret far too strong to keep. 



GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY? 



SHE stood at the bar of justice, 
A creature wan and wild, 
In form too small for a woman, 

In features too old for a child; 
For a look so worn and pathetic 

Was stamped on her pale young face, 
It seemed long years of suffering 
Must have left that silent trace. 

"Your name?" said the judge, as he eyed he 

With kindly look yet keen, 
"Is Mary McGuire, if you please, sir." 

" And your age ? " "I am turned fifteen. " 
"Well, Mary," and then from a paper 

He slowly and gravely read, 
"You are charged here — I am sorry to say it — 

With stealing three loaves of bread. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 53 

"You look not like an offender, 

And I hope that you can show 
The charge to be false. Now, tell me, 

Are you guilty of this or no?" 
A passionate burst of weeping 

Was at first her sole reply, 
But she dried her eyes in a moment, 

And looked in the judge's eye. 

"I will tell you just how it was, sir: 

My father and mother are dead, 
And my little brother and sisters 

Were hungry and asked me for bread. 
At first I earned it for them 

By working hard all day, 
But somehow times were bad, sir, 

And the work all fell away. 

" I could get no more employment; 

The weather was bitter cold ; 
The young ones cried and shivered — 

Little Johnny's but four years old. 
So what was I to do, sir? 

I am guilty, but do not condemn; 
I took — oh, was it stealing? — ■ 

The bread to give to them." 

Every man in the court-room — 

Graybeard and thoughtless youth — 
Knew, as he looked upon her, 

That the prisoner spoke the truth. 
Out from their pockets came kerchiefs, 

Out from their eyes sprang tears, 
And out from their old faded wallets 

Treasures hoarded for years. 



54 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

The judge's face was a study — 

The strangest you ever saw, 
And he cleared his throat and murmured 

Something about the law. 
For one so learned in such matters, 

So wise in dealing with men, 
He seemed, on a simple question, 

Sorely puzzled just then. 

But no one blamed him or wondered 

When at last these words they heard: 
" The sentence of this young prisoner 

Is, for the present, deferred." 
And no one blamed him or wondered 

When he went to her and smiled, 
And tenderly led from the court-room . 

Mary, the "guilty" child. 






GIVE US MEN. 



GOD give us men; a time like this demands 
Great hearts, strong minds, true faith and ready hands. 
Men whom the lust of office cannot kill ; 
Men whom the spoils of office cannot buy; 
Men who possess opinions and will; 
Men who love honor; men who will not lie; 
jVIen who can stand before a demagogue, 
And brave his treacherous flatteries without winking; 
Tall men, sunburnt, who live above the fog, 
In public duty and in private thinking; 
For while the rabble, with its thumb-worn creeds, 
Its large professions, and its little deeds, 
Mingle in selfish strife — lo! Freedom weeps, 
Wrong rules the land, and waiting Justice sleeps. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 55 



KATIE'S ANSWER. 



OCH, Katie's a rogue, it is thrue; 
But her eyes, like the sky, are so blue, 
An' her dimples so swate, 
An' her ankles so nate, 
She dazed an' she bothered me, too. 

Till one mornin' we wint for a ride; 
Whin, demure as a bride, by my side 

The darlint she sat, 

Wid the wickedest hat 
'Neath purty girl's chin iver tied. 

An' my heart, arrah, thin how it bate! 
N For my Kate looked so temptin' an' swate, 

Wid cheeks like the roses 

An' all the red posies 
That grow in her garden so nate. 

But I sat just as mute as the dead 
Till she said, wid a toss of her head, 

" If I'd known that to-day 

Ye'd have nothin' to say, 
I'd have gone wid my cousin instead." 

Thin I felt myself grow very bold; 
For I knew she'd not scold if I told 

Uv the love in my heart 

That would niver depart, 
Though I lived to be wrinkled an' old. 



56 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

An' I said, " If I dared to do so, 
I'd lit go uv the baste an' I'd throw 

Both arms round your waist, 

An' be stalin'a taste 
Uv them lips that are coaxin' me so." 

Thin she blushed a more illegant red 
As she said, without raisin' her head 
An' her eyes lookin' down 
'Neath her lashes so brown, 
"Would ye like me to drive, Misther Ted?" 



A PIG IN THE FENCE. 



DIDST never observe when a pig in the fence 
Sends forth his most pitiful shout, 
How all of his neighbors betake themselves thence 

To punish him ere he gets out ? 
What a hubbub they raise, so that others afar 

May know his condition, and hence 
Come running to join them in adding a scar 
To the pig that is fast in the fence? 

Well, swine are not all of the creatures that be, 

Who find themselves sticking between 
The rails of the fence, and who strive to get free, 

While the world is still shoving them in; 
Who find that the favor they meet with depends 

Not on worth, but on dollars and cents, 
And that 'tis but few who will prove themselves friends 

To the pig that is fast in the fence. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. ■ 57 

"BOSE." 

A WESTERN FARMER'S STORY. 
EMELINE SHERMAN SMITH. 



YOU love your dog? Indeed, sir, we do; 
I'll tell you why, and the tale is true: 
Ten years ago, when we settled out here, 
All the country being wild and drear, 
I had to work both early and late 
To keep my farm matters snug and straight. 
My dear young wife was patient and good, 
She helped me all she possibly could 
By keeping the house so neat and fair — 
'Twas rest and comfort to enter there. 
We had but one child, a baby boy; 
He helped me, too, he was such a joy. 
No care was heavy, no toil severe, 
With such a bright little darling near. 

One more in the family, good old Bose! 
Look at him now, sir! he just as well knows 
As I do myself what I'm going to say, 
Though he meekly turns and walks away, 
Making believe he don't want to hear 
The praise he's enjoyed this many a year. 
Dogs are like men: they don't like to show 
Pride in good deeds, but they have it, you know. 

What was I saying? Oh! ten years ago, 
Though our home was happy our fortunes were low; 
And the only nurse or help that we had 
To watch and take care of our baby lad 



5 8 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

Was this faithful dog. If the child was asleep, 
The knowing creature would cautiously creep 
Close to the cradle, and there he would lie 
Still as a statue, but keeping his eye — 
As a sentry on duty keeps his place — ■ 
All the while on the baby's face; 
And the moment he saw a lid unclose, 
Up he would spring, this frolicsome Bose! 
Rush to the cradle, and kiss the boy, 
Who'd hug his playmate and crow for joy. 

To leave our darling we had no fear, 
So long as this wise protector was near; 
And often my wife, in her kindly thought, 
Out to the fields in the harvest-time brought 
My dinner, to save me a lonesome walk, 
And thus give me chance for a nice little talk. 

One day, when the weather was dry and hot, 
I was working down in a distant lot, 
And she came as usual to bring my food, 
Which seemed to taste uncommonly good; 
And I kept her, after the meal was o'er, 
Chatting some twenty minutes or more; 
When all at once on the sultry air 
Came something that woke a cry of despair. 

"Our house is on fire! Great heaven! the child! 

And shrieking this in an accent wild, 

She darted off with a step so fleet 

I scarce could follow her flying feet. 

The way was rough, and never before 

Did it seem so far to our cottage door; 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 59 

And when at last anear it we came 

The dwelling was all one sheet of flame! 

And wife, in her horror and dread amaze, 

Was about to rush right into the blaze, 

But I held her back — then she swooned away, 

And like one that was dead in my arms she lay. 

Just then to my ear came a joyful sound, 

And looking in sudden wonder around 

I saw — what shines in my memory yet — 

A pretty picture I cannot forget : 

A lump of a baby all in white, 

Clapping its chubby hands with delight; 

And frisking about the grassy nest 

Where he'd put the birdie so safely to rest, 

Was the proudest and happiest dog that you 

Or any other mortal could view. 

He leaped, he barked, nay, talked — in his way — 

For his capers, his eyes, and his tail seemed to say, 

"Look at the baby! look at the dear! 

Isn't he safe and in clover here V 

Safe, indeed! why, if you'll believe — 
And where would be the use to deceive ? — ■ 
The child was placed at the point whence came 
The wind, do you see? No breath of flame, 
No spark or cinder could even reach 
The hem of his garment! Now, who could teach 
A poor dumb creature such wisdom as this? 
Come here, old fellow, and give us a kiss! 

Excuse me, sir; but whenever I tell 
This curious story — somehow — well, 



60 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

Just here I break down. For many a day 

After this life seemed hard, I must say; 

But we didn't give up, for still we were blest 

With health and brave hearts; besides, we possessed 

The boy and the dog, so we didn't forget 

To be thankful for all that was spared to us yet. 

We worked hard and prospered, as most people do 

When to duty and labor and love they are true. 

To-day with my fortune I'm fully content; 

I've a nice home once more — owe no man a cent; 

Wife looks like a girl, and as to our lad, 

He's the brightest and best that parents e'er had. 

He does credit to us and credit to Bose — 

'Tisn't every dog that sagaciously knows 

What child is worth saving. He knew. Now you see 

Why the creature's so dear to wife and to me. 



THE WEDDING FEE. 

R. M. STREETER. 

ONE morning, fifty years ago, 
When apple-trees were white with snow 
Of fragrant blossoms, and the air 
Was spellbound with the perfume rare — 
Upon a farm-horse, large and lean 

And lazy with its double load, 
A sun-brown youth and maid were seen 
Jogging along the winding road. 

Blue were the arches of the skies, 
But bluer were that maiden's eyes! 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 61 

The dew-drops on the grass were bright, 
But brighter was the loving light 
That sparkled 'neath each long-fringed lid 
Where those bright eyes of blue were hid. 
Adown the shoulders, brown and bare, 
Rolled the soft waves of golden hair, 
Where, almost strangled with the spray, 
The sun, a willing sufferer, lay. 

It was the fairest sight, I ween, 

That the young man had ever seen, 

And with his features all aglow, 

The happy fellow told her so. 

And she, without the least surprise, 

Looked on him with those heavenly eyes — 

Saw underneath that shade of tan 

The handsome features of a man, 

And with a joy but rarely known, 

She drew that dear face to her own, 

And by that bridal bonnet hid — 

I cannot tell you what she did. 

So on they ride, until among 

The new-born leaves, with dew-drops hung, 

The parsonage, arrayed in white, 

Peers out — a more than welcome sight. 

Then, with a cloud upon his face, 
"What shall we do," he turned to say, 
" Should he refuse to take his pay 

From what is in the pillow-case? " 
And, glancing down, his eyes surveyed 
The pillow-case before him laid, 
Whose contents, reaching to its hem, 
Might purchase endless joys for them. 



62 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

The maiden answers, " Let us wait; 

To borrow trouble, where's the need? " 
Then at the parson's squeaking gate 

Halted the more than willing steed; 
Down from his horse the bridegroom sprung, 
The latchless gate behind him swung; 
The knocker of that startled door, 
Struck as it never was before, 

Brought the whole household, pale with fright: 
And there, with blushes on his cheek, 
So bashful he could hardly speak, 

The farmer met their wondering sight. 

The groom goes in, his errand tells, 

And as the parson nods, he leans 
Far o'er the window-sill and yells, 

"Come in! He says he'll take the beans!" 
Oh, how she jumped! with one glad bound 
She and the bean-bag reached the ground, 
Then, clasping with each dimpled arm 
The precious product of the farm, 
She bears it through the open door, 
And down upon the parlor floor 
Dumps the best beans vines ever bore. 
Ah, happy were their songs that day 
When, man and wife, they rode away; 
But happier this chorus still 

Which echoed through those woodland scenes: 
"God bless the priest of Watsonville! 

God bless the man who took the beans!*' 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 63 



LIFE LEAVES. 



JOAQUIN MILLER. 

IS it worth while that we jostle a brother 
Bearing his load on the rough road of life? 
Is it worth while thatnve jeer at each other 

In blackness of heart ? that we war to the knife ? 
God pity us all in our pitiful strife! 

God pity us all as we jostle each other! 

God pardon us all for the triumphs we feel 
When a fellow goes down 'neath his load on the heather, 

Pierced to the heart — words are keener than steel, 

And mightier far for woe or for weal. 

Were it not well in this brief little journey 
On over the isthmus, down into the tide, 

We give him a fish instead of a serpent, 
Ere folding the hands to be and abide 
Forever and aye in dust at his side? 

Look at the roses saluting each other; 

Look at the herds all at peace on the plain — 
Man and man only makes war on his brother, 

And laughs in his heart at his peril and pain; 

Shamed by the beasts that go down on the plain. 

Is it worth while that we battle to humble 
Some poor fellow-soldier down into the dust? 

God pity us all! Time erelong will tumble 
All of us together, like leaves in a gust, 
Humbled, indeed, down into the dust. 



64 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

"VAS MARRIAGE A FAILURE?" 



CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS. 



VAS marriage a failure? Veil, now, dot depends 
Altogeddher on how you look at id, mine friends. 
Like dhose double-horse teams dot you, see at der races, 
Id depends pooty mooch on der pair in der traces; 
Eef dhey don'd pool togeddher righdt off at der sthart, 
Den dimes oudt off nine dhey vas beddher apart. 

Vas marriage a failure? Der vote was in doubt; 

Dhose dot's oudt vould be in, dhose dot's in vould be oudt 

Der man mit oxberience, goot looks und dash, 

Gets a vife mit some fife hundord dousand in cash; 

Budt, after der honeymoon, vhere vas der honey? 

She haf der oxberience — he haf der money. 

Vas marriage a failure? Eef dot vas der case, 

Vot vas to pecome off der whole human race ? 

Vot you dink dot der oldt " Pilgrim faders " vould say. 

Dot came in der Sunflower to oldt Plymouth bay, 

To see der fine coundtry dis peoples haf got, 

Und dhen hear dhem ask sooch conondhrums as dot ? 

Vas marriage a failure? Shust go, ere you tell, 

To dot Bunker Mon Hillument, vhere Varren fell ; 

Dink off Vashington, Franklin, und " Honest Old Abe " — 

Dhey vas all been aroundt since dot first Plymouth babe. 

I vas only a Deutscher, budt I dells you vot! 

I pelief, every dime, in sooch "failures'' as dot, 

Vas marriage a failure? I ask mine Katrine, 
Und she look off me so dot I feels pooty mean. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 65 

Dhen she say: " Meester Strauss, shust come here eef you 

blease, " 
Und she dake me vhere Yawcob und leedle Loweeze 
By dheir shnug trundle-bed vas shust saying dheir prayer, 
Und she say, mit a smile: " Vas dhere some failures dhere ? " 



MIRAGE. 



EDITH SESSIONS TUPPER. 



CLEAR shining through the swimming air, 
Across a stretch of summer seas, 
Far, lofty peaks gleam white and fair, 
The heights of the Hesperides. 

far-off peaks! O happy isles! 

I sail and sail and long for you, 
And still th' enticing vision smiles 
To lure me o'er the waters blue. 

Below those fair and gleaming heights, 
Ne'er shrouded o'er by drifting snows, 

Lie gardens filled with rare delights, 
And there the golden apple grows. 

1 sail and sail and long for you, 

But never come to those fair isles: 
Still stretches wide the boundless blue, 
Forever still the scene beguiles. 

Unclimbed those lofty mountain heights, 
Far off beyond the smiling seas, 

Unreached that garden of delights, 
Untrodden the Hesperides. 

5 



66 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

THE LOST PEARL. 



[DIPPED my hand in the sea, wantonly. 
The sun shone red o'er castle and cave; 
Dreaming I rocked on the sleepy wave; 
I drew a pearl from the sea, wonderingly. 

There in my hand it lay, who could say 
How from the depths of the ocean calm 
It rose, and slid itself into my palm? 
I smiled at finding there pearl so fair. 

I kissed the beautiful thing, marveling. 
Poor till now, I had grown to be 
The wealthiest maiden on land or sea. 
A priceless gem was mine, pure, divine! 

I hid the pearl in my breast, fearful lest 
The wind should steal or the wave repent 
Largess made in mere merriment, 
And snatch it back again into the stream. 

But careless grown, ah, me! wantonly 
I held between two fingers fine 
A gem above the sparkling brine, 
Only to see it gleam across the stream. 

I felt the treasure slide under the tide 

Glittering upward, fade away. 

Ah, then my tears did flow, long ago! 

I weep, and weep, and weep, into the deep; 

Sad am I that I could not hold 

A treasure richer than virgin gold, 

That Fate so sweetly gave out of the wave. 






FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 

I dip my hand in the sea, longingly, 

But never more will that jewel white 

Shed on my soul its tender light: 

My pearl lies buried deep where mermaids sleep. 



67 



AT SUNSET. 



MARGARET E. SANGSTER. 



IT isn't the thing you do, dear, it's the thing you've left 
undone, 
Which gives you a bit of heartache at the setting of the sun. 
The tender word forgotten, the letter you did not write, 
The flower you might have sent, dear, are your haunting ghosts 
to-night. 



The stone you might have lifted out of a brother's way, 

The bit of heartsome counsel you were hurried too much to say; 

The loving touch of the hand, dear, the gentle and winsome 

tone 
That you had no time or thought for, with troubles enough of 

your own. 

The little act of kindness so easily out of mind; 
Those chances to be angels, which every mortal finds, 
They come in night and silence each chill, reproachful wraith — 
When hope is faint and flagging, and a blight has dropped on 
faith. 

For life is all too short, dear, and sorrow is all too great. 

To suffer our slow compassion that tarries until too late. 

And it's not the thing you do, dear, it's the thing you leave 

undone, 
Which gives you the bit of heartache at the setting of the sun. 



68 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 



WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR? 



THY neighbor? It is he whom thou 
Hast power to aid and bless; 
Whose aching heart or burning brow " 
Thy soothing hand may press. 

Thy neighbor? 'Tis the fainting poor, 
Whose eye with want is dim, 

Whom hunger sends from door to door; 
Go thou and succor him. 

Thy neighbor? 'Tis that weary man, 
Whose years are at the brim, 

Bent low with sickness, care and pain; 
Go thou and comfort him. 

Thy neighbor? 'Tis the heart bereft 

Of every earthly gem, 
Widow and orphans helpless left; 

Go thou and shelter them. 

Where'er thou meet'st a human form 
Less favored than thine own, 

Remember 'tis thy neighbor worm, 
Thy brother, or thy son. 

Oh! pass not, pass not heedless by; 

Perhaps thou canst redeem 
The breaking heart from misery — 

Go share thy lot with him. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 69 



CARCASSONNE. 



GUSTAVE NADAUD. 



TTOW old I am! I'm eighty years! 

1 1 I've worked both hard and long. 
Yet, patient as my life has been, 
One dearest sight I have not seen — 

It almost seems a wrong. 
A dream I had when life was new: 
Alas, our dreams, they come not true! 

I thought to see fair Carcassonne — 

That lovely city, Carcassonne. 

" One sees it dimjy on the height 

Beyond the mountains blue. 
I fain would walk five weary leagues — 
I do not mind the road's fatigues — 

Through morn and evening dew ; 
But bitter frosts would fall at night, 
And on the grapes that yellow blight! 

I could not go to Carcassonne; 

I never went to Carcassonne. 

" They say it is as gay all times 

As holidays at home. 
The gentles ride in gay attire, 
And in the sun each gilded spire 

Shoots up like those of Rome; 
The bishop the procession leads, 
And generals curb their prancing steeds 

Alas! I know not Carcassonne! 

Alas! I saw not Carcassonne! 



70 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

"Our vicar's right. He preaches loud, 

And bids us to beware. He says, 
'Oh, guard the weakest part, 
And most the traitor in the heart, 

Against ambition's snare.' 
Perhaps an autumn I can find — 
Two sunny days with gentle wind; 
I then could go to Carcassonne, 
I still could go to Carcassonne! 



" My God and Father, pardon me 

If this, my wish, offends; 
One sees some hope more high than he 
In age as in his infancy, 

To which his heart ascends. 
My wife, my son, have' seen Narbonne; 
My grandson went to Perpignan; 

But I have not seen Carcassonne — 

I never have seen Carcassonne! " 

Thus sighed a peasant, bent with age, 

Half dreaming in his chair. 
I said, " My friend, come, go with me 
To-morrow; then thine eyes shall see 

The streets that seem so fair." 
That night there came for passing soul 
The church bell's low and solemn toll- 
He never saw gay Carcassonne. 
Who has not known a Carcassonne? 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 71 



JACK. 



^/^REENS! Dand'lion greens! Greens!" shouts a child's 

VJ voice. 

And I heard the quick steps of small bare feet pattering up 
the lane. Presently a face appeared at the open window of 
my kitchen, where I was busy, superintending the Saturday's 
baking. 

" Please, ma'am, don't you want a basket of fresh greens all 
picked with the dew on 'em? They'll make a good dinner, 
and only cost five cents." 

Poor little manikin, I thought, to work so long and to trudge 
so far, all for five cents! My dinner was provided, and dan- 
delion greens were not included in the bill-of-fare — but how 
could I refuse him? 

"Yes, Jack, come in here and eat a doughnut while I empty 
your basket." 

He was not slow to accept the invitation, and chattered like 
a magpie every minute while he eagerly devoured several 
doughnuts, and looked longingly at a pan of cookies just 
taken from the oven. 

"Thank you, ma'am! You see, it makes a feller awful 
hungry— this dand'lion business does. I like to get 'em when 
they're fresh and cool, before the sun has been on 'em long, so 
I start at five o'clock and sometimes earlier, and, of course, I 
don't have any breakfast first, and when it happens that a 
feller hasn't had any supper either the night before, it makes 
him feel kind o' empty like." 

All this was said without a moment's pause, and swinging 
his little bare heels together, as he sat perched up on the win- 
dow-sill, he laughed the merriest laugh in the world, which 



72 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

brought to the surface a great dimple hidden away in each sun- 
burned cheek, and showed all his pretty white teeth. 

"But you had your supper last night, hadn't you? " 

"No, ma'am. You see there was only two potaters to go 
round, and the round they had to go was mother, Susie and me, 
a big round for two small potaters : — don't you think so, 
ma'am? " 

And again he laughed, as if it was the funniest thing he 
had ever heard of, instead of a most pathetic story. 

" How did you manage ? " 

"Well, you see, ma'am, I haven't been to school long enough 
to learn how to divide two potaters among three people so 
that each shall have a whole one. So says I to mother, 'You 
take this one, and Sue and I'll handy-spandy for the other.' 
Then I held it behind me and said to Susie, 'Handy-spandy, 
Jack-a-dandy, upper hand or lower!' 

"'Lower,' says Susie. 

" And lower it was, to be sure, 'cause I held both hands even 
till she answered, and then dropped the one with the potater 
in it lower, which wasn't cheatin', ma'am, now, was it?" 

"No, my brave little Jack; it surely was not cheating. " I 
answered, turning away that he might not see the tears in my 
eyes. 

"Well, Sue, you see, didn't like to take it; for she's awful 
generous, if she is poor, and she tried to get it back on me by 
saying she thought upper, and 'twas only her lips that said 
lower. She meant upper all the time. She isn't well — Sue 
isn't. She's little and white, and one potater ain't much of 
a supper for the like of her, anyway. And at last I made her 
eat the whole of it. I told her that we'd have a good dinner 
to-day, 'cause I knowed somebody would buy my greens, and 
I'm going to spend the whole five cents for one dinner. What 
do you think of that? I'm going to get three herrings at a 
cent apiece, and the rest in potatoes." 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 73 

And he smacked his lips as he thought of the treat in store 
for them all. 

"I think," he continued, " that you've paid me pretty well 
for my greens in doughnuts without any five cents at all. Still, 
as / look at it," he added, with a sly twinkle in his great blue 
eyes, "doughnuts is doughnuts and cents is cents; and the 
doughnuts is a present, and the cents is pay." 

I laughed aloud at his reasoning, and said: 

" Now, Jack, I want you to keep your five cents till some 
night when you haven't any supper, and let me fill your basket 
with something that I know will go around. I want Susie to 
have a glass of fresh milk. So you must carry this tin pail 
beside the basket. Do you think you can manage them both ?" 

"Well, ma'am, I guess you'll see whether I can manage 'em 
or not. But do you think I can dig greens enough to pay for 
all them things you're putting in? " 

" No, Jack, I don't, for they are not to be paid for. I want 
to send these to your mother — that is all; and as you said 
yourself, doughnuts is doughnuts and cents is cents." 

"To be sure," he answered, merrily. "Well, ma'am, I just 
wish you could see 'em when I tell 'em how good you've been 
to me. Some folks ain't good, you know," he added, with a 
sigh. 

While I filled the basket he told me their little history, 
never realizing how full it was of the deepest pathos — the 
struggles of the poor mother to keep her family together after 
the death of her husband, who had left her one morning to go 
to his work in the great iron foundry, and was brought back 
to her a few hours later, having met his death while toiling for 
those he loved. He did not realize, either, how his own self- 
sacrificing spirit shone out through his words, proving to me 
the strength and sweetness of his character. What a hero he 
was, this little twelve-year-old Jack! 

" Mother has worked so hard for Sue and me that she hasn't 



74 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

much strength left. And don't you think," he added, straight- 
ening himself up proudly, "don't you think I'm big enough to 
take care of us three? Leastways, I've been lucky this morn- 
ing, for I've sold my greens and found you." 

The gratitude in his heart was plainly visible in his little 
face as he turned it up to me. 

I told him that henceforth we would be the very best and 
warmest of friends, and that happier days were in store for 
him and for those at home. 

Such a happy Jack as he was when I sent him home that 
April morning, with the heavy basket on one arm and the pail 
of milk on the other! and I wish I could tell you — for I am 
sure you would like to hear — what pleasant days followed for 
Jack and those so dear to him; but it would make such a long, 
long story we should never come to the end of it. 

Jack is proving himself the hero I knew him to be. 

He works, early and late, on a small piece of ground which 
we allow him to cultivate on our farm; and he carries his 
produce to town in a basket, strapped on his back, and he is 
as happy as a king — happier than many kings, I am sure. 

Little, pale Susie is not half so pale as she was before she, 
too, had the chance given her to "help." She has free range 
in my flower-garden, and makes up the daintiest buttonhole 
bouquets, with which she fills her small basket every morning 
for Jack to take with him. He never finds the least difficulty 
in disposing of them all, and a proud little lass she is when he 
drops the pennies into her hand at night. 

The mother is growing strong and well again, happy in her 
boy's thoughtful care, and cheery, light-hearted ways. He is 
not yet thirteen years old, but his mother calls him the "head 
of the house," and he truly deserves the title. Brave little 
man — God bless him! 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. f5 



DISCIPLINE. 

A BLOCK of marble caught the glance 
Of Buonarotti's eyes, 
Which brightened in their solemn deeps, 

Like meteor-lighted skies. 
And one who stood beside him listened, 

Smiling as he heard; 
For " I will make an angel of it," 
Was the sculptor's word. 

And mallet soon and chisel sharp 

The stubborn block assailed, 
And blow by blow, and parig by pang, 

The prisoner unveiled. 
A brow was lifted, high and pure; 

The waking eyes outshone; 
And as the master sharply wrought, 

A smile broke through the stone! 

Beneath the chisel's edge the hair 

Escaped in floating rings; 
And, plume by plume, was slowly freed 

The sweep of half-furled wings. 
The stately bust and graceful limbs 

Their marble fetters shed, 
And where the shapeless block had been, 

An angel stood instead! 

O blows that smite! O hurts that pierce 
This shrinking heart of mine! 

What are ye but the Master's tools, 
Forming a work divine? 



7 6 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

O hope that crumbles at my feet! 

O joy that mocks and flies! 
What are ye but the clogs that bind 

My spirit from the skies! 

Sculptor of souls! I lift to Thee 

Encumbered heart and hands : 
Spare not the chisel, set me free, 

However dear the bands. 
How blest, if all these seeming ills, 

Which draw my thoughts to Thee, 
Should only prove that Thou wilt make 

An angel out of me ! 



THREE WORDS OF STRENGTH. 



JOHANN C. F. VON SCHILLER. 



THERE are three lessons I would write — 
Three words, as with a burning pen, 
In tracings of eternal light, 
Upon the hearts of men. 

Have hope. Though clouds environ round, 
And Gladness hides her face in scorn, 

Put off the shadow from thy brow — 
No night but hath its morn. 

Have faith. Where'er thy bark is driven — 
The calm's disport, the tempest's mirth — 

Know this: God rules the hosts of heaven, 
The inhabitants of earth. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 77 

Have love. Not love alone for one; 

But man, as man, thy brother call; 
And scatter, like the circling sun, 

Thy charities on all. 

Thus grave these lessons on thy soul — 
Hope, faith, and love — and thou shalt find 

Strength when life's surges rudest roll, 
Light when thou else wert blind. 



HOPE ON. 



ADELAIDE A. PROCTER. 



STRIVE; yet I do not promise the prize you dream of to-day 
Will not fade when you think to grasp it, and melt in your 
hand away; 
But another and holier treasure, you would now perchance 

disdain, 
Will come when your toil is over, and pay you for all your pain. 

Wait; yet I do not tell you the hour you long for now 

Will not come with its radiance vanished, and a shadow upon 

its brow; 
Yet far through the misty future, with a crown of starry light, 
An hour of joy you know not is winging her silent flight. 

Pray; though the gift you ask for may never comfort your 

fears, 
May never repay your pleading, yet pray, and with hopeful 

tears: 
An answer, not that you long for, but diviner, will come one 

day; 
Your eyes are too dim to see it, yet strive, and wait, and pray. 



7 8 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 



THE HOUR OF PRAYER. 



VICTOR HUGO. 



MY daughter, go and pray! See, night is come! 
One golden planet pierces through the gloom; 
Trembles the misty outline of the hill. 
Listen! The distant wheels in darkness glide — 
All else is hushed; the tree by the roadside 

Shakes in the wind its dust-strewn branches still. 

Day is for evil, weariness, and pain. 

Let us to prayer; calm night is come again. 

The wind among the ruined towers so bare 
Sighs mournfully; the herds, thd flocks, the streams, 
All suffer, all complain; worn nature seems 

Longing for peace, for slumber, and for prayer. 

It is the hour when babes with angels speak. 
While we are rushing to our pleasures weak 

And sinful ; all young children, with bent knees, 
Eyes raised to heaven, and small hands folded fair, 
Say at the self-same hour the self-same prayer, 

On our behalf, to Him who all things sees. 

And then they sleep. O peaceful cradle-sleep! 
O childhood's hallowed prayer; religion deep 

Of love, not fear, in happiness expressed! 
So the young bird, when done its twilight lay 
Of praise, folds peacefully at shut of day 

Its head beneath its wing, and sinks to rest, 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 79 



ANNABEL LEE. 



EDGAR ALLAN POE. 



IT was many, full many a year ago, 
In a kingdom by the sea, 
That a maiden lived, whom you may know 

By the name of Annabel Lee; 
And this maiden lived with no other thought 
Than to love and be loved by me. 

I was a child, and she was a child, 

In this kingdom by the sea; 
But we loved with a love that was more than love, 

I and my Annabel Lee: 
With a love the winged seraphs of heaven 

Coveted her and me. 

And this was the reason that long ago, 

In this kingdom by the sea, 
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling 

My beautiful Annabel Lee: 
So that her highborn kinsman came 

And bore her away from me, 
To shut her up in a sepulchre, 

In this kingdom by the sea. 

The angels, not half so happy in heaven, 

Went envying her and me; 
Yes, that was the reason, as all men know, 

In this kingdom by the sea, 
That the wind came out oi the cloud by night, 

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. 



80 JULIA AMD AiVJVIE THOMAS' 

But our love was stronger by far than the love 

Of those who were older than we — 

Of many far wiser than we — 
And neither the angels in heaven above 

Nor the demons down under the sea, 
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. 

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee: 
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee: 
And so all the night tide I lie down by the side 
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride, 

In the sepulchre there by the sea, 

In her tomb by the sounding sea. 



WOMEN OF THE WAR. 



ANNIE THOMAS. 



[Written for and read before the Soldiers and Sailors' Department of the Nat- 
ional Women's Christian Temperance Union, at the commemoration of 
Women of the War, May 30, 1887, New York City.] 

ALL praise, all honor to the valiant men 
Who, casting fortune by, and risking life, 
Left home and loved ones — all that life holds dear — 
To fight for country or for country die. 

Speak of their valor oft in thankful words, 
Sing loud and clear their praise, in notes of love; 
Cover their graves with bays and flowers to-day. 
Of them, too much cannot be said or sung. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 81 

And to the living, wounded heroes — all, 

Who gave the best of life — the dearest gift; 

Who, maimed, are destined now through time to go — 

Our country's best and choicest gifts be tendered. 

Others there are who bore no minor part 

In the dread conflict of our civil strife; 

Who bravely, with tongue and pen, aye, and with life, 

Defended right as only woman may ; 

Who in the hospital with gentle hand 
Bound up the bleeding wound, cooled the parched lip; 
With aching brow, night after night kept watch, 
Tenderly nursing the dying back to life. 

Or those, who, patient, toiled alone at home. 
Bearing the double burden on them thrown; 
Struggling, and often 'midst hunger, cold and grief, 
To rear the little ones that to them clung. 

The noble, patient mothers, sisters, wives, 
Who, with brave hearts and loving, hopeful words. 
Hiding their sorrow, denying even tears, 
Cheered on the weary, homesick patriots. 

The dear old grandmother, whose trembling hands 
Knitted away for them — her soldiers all — 
Until the poor eyes, dim with age and tears, 
Grown blinded quite, the stitch no longer found. 

The tender, loving younger ones — sweethearts — 
For love of whom and praise from whom full oft, 
The soldier nerved his heart and marched away 
To combat, suffering, privation, death. 
6 



82 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

To these we also render thanks to-day; 
Of these — brave ones — our heartfelt songs are sung. 
The memory of these to-day refreshed with tears; 
These, also, wreathe we with immortal flowers. 



SUGGESTION. 



RICHARD REALPH. 



FAIR are the flowers and the children, but their subtle sug- 
gestion is fairer; 
Rare is the rosebud of dawn, but the secret that clasps it is 

rarer; 
Sweet the exultance of song, but the strain that precedes it is 

sweeter; 
And never was poem yet writ, but the meaning out-measured 
the metre. 

Never a daisy that grows, but a mystery guideth the growing; 
Never a river that flows, but a majesty sceptres the flowing; 
Never a Shakespeare that soared, but a stronger than he did 

enfold him; 
Never a prophet foretells, but a mightier seer hath foretold 

him. 

Back of the canvas that throbs the painter is hinted and hidden; 

Into the sculpture that breathes the soul of the sculptor is bid- 
den; 

Under the joy that is felt lie the infinite issues of feeling; 

Crowning the glory revealed is the glory that crowns the re- 
vealing. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 83 

Great are the symbols of being, but that which is symboled is 
greater ; 

Vast the create and beheld, but vaster the inward creator; , 

Back of the sound broods the silence, back of the gift stands 
the giving; 

Back of the hand that receives thrill the sensitive nerves of re- 
ceiving. 

Space is as nothing to spirit, the deed is outdone by the doing; 
The heart of the wooer is warm, but warmer the heart of the 

wooing; 
And up from the pits where these shiver, and up from the 

heights where those shine, 
Twin voices and shadows swim starward and the essence of life 

is divine. 



THE CHEMISTRY OF CHARACTER. 



ELIZABETH DORNEY. 



JOHN and Peter and Robert and Paul, 
God in His wisdom created them all. 
John was a statesman and Peter a slave, 
Robert a preacher and Paul — a knave. 
Evil or good, as the case might be, 
White, or colored, or bond, or free — 
John and Peter and Robert and Paul, 
God in His wisdom created them all. 

Out of earth's elements mingled with flame, 
Out of life's compounds of glory and shame, 
Fashioned and shaped by no will of their own, 
And helplessly into life's history thrown; 



84 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

Born by the law that compels men to be, 
Born to conditions they could not foresee — 
John and Peter and Robert and Paul, 
God in His wisdom created them all. 

John was the head and the heart of his state, 
Was trusted and honored, was noble and great; 
Peter was made 'neath life's burdens to groan, 
And never once dreamed that his soul was his own; 
Robert great glory and honor received; 
For zealously preaching what but few believed; 
While Paul of the pleasures of sin took his fill, 
And gave up his life to the service of ill. 

It chanced that these men, in their passing away 

From earth and its conflicts, all died the same day. 

John was mourned through the length and the breadth of the 

land ; 
Peter fell 'neath the lash of a merciless hand; 
Robert died with the praise of the Lord on his tongue; 
While Paul was convicted of murder and hung. 
John and Peter and Robert and Paul, 
The purpose of life was fulfilled in them all. 

Men said of the statesman, " How noble and brave! ' 
But of Peter, alas! " He was only a slave." 
Of Robert, " 'Tis well with his soul — it is well;" 
While Paul they consigned to the torments of hell. 
Born by one law, through all nature the same, 
What made them differ, and who was to blame? 
John and Peter and Robert and Paul, 
God in His wisdom created them all. 

Out in that region of infinite light 

Where the soul of the black man is pure as the white; 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 85 

Out where the spirit, through sorrow made wise, 
No longer resorts to deception and lies; 
Out where the flesh can no longer control 
The freedom and faith of the God-given soul — 
Who shall determine what change may befall 
John and Peter and Robert and Paul ? 

John may in wisdom and goodness increase; 

Peter rejoice in an infinite peace ; 

Robert may learn that the truths of the Lord 

Are more in the spirit and less in the word; 

And Paul may be blessed with a holier birth 

Than the passions of man had allowed him on earth. 

John and Peter and Robert and Paul, 

God in His wisdom will care for them all. 



HANS AND FRITZ. 



CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS. 



HANS and Fritz were two Deutschers who live side by side, 
Remote from the world, its deceit and its pride; 
With their pretzels and beer their spare moments were spent, 
And the fruits of their labor were peace and content. 

Hans purchased a horse of a neighbor one day, 
And, lacking a part of the Geld — as they say — 
Made a call upon Fritz to solicit a loan, 
To help him to pay for his beautiful roan. 

Fritz kindly consented the money to lend, 
And gave the required amount to his friend; 
Remarking — his own simple language to quote — 
" Berhaps it vas bedder ve make us a note." 



86 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

The note was drawn up in their primitive way — 
" I, Hans, gets from Fritz feefty tollars to-tay " — 
When the question arose, the note being made, 
" Vich von holds dot baper until it vas baid?" 

"You geeps dot," says Fritz, "und den you vill know 
You owes me dot money." Says Hans: " Dot ish so; 
Dot makes me remempers I haf dot to bay, 
Und I prings you der note und der money some day." 

A month had expired, when Hans, as agreed, 
Paid back the amount, and from debt he was freed. 
Says Fritz, "Now dot settles us." Hans replies, "Yaw; 
Now who dakes dot baper accordings by law?" 

"I geeps dot, now, aind't it?" says Fritz; "den you see 
I alvays remempers you baid dot to me." 
Says Hans, " Dot ish so, it vos now shust so blain 
Dot I knows vot to do ven I porrows again." 



MARGERY. 



MRS. E. C. FOSTER. 



AROUND the winter fire to-night, 
I trace upon the ember bright 
The name of one now lost to sight, 
Can it be yours, my Margery ? 

I look around and count them all, 
And wildly search around the wall, 
To see if there your shadow fall, 
As once it used to, Margery. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. Sj 

Oh, yonder is the empty chair. 
Once softly cushioned in mohair, 
Now broken, tattered, lone and bare, 
And no one fills it, Margery. 

Far in the rear's the naked bed, 
The pillow that your darling head 
Pressed the dark night your spirit fled, 
Amid those death heaves, Margery. 

Oh, lost one, do you ever weep, 

Or ever there such vigils keep 

As mine, when all the world's asleep? 

You will not answer, Margery. 

tell me if in your high sphere 
Such partings come as we have here, 
And thoughts of winding-sheet and bier 
Make life so bitter, Margery. 

My soul is sick, I try again 

To raise the old familiar strain. 

Oh, you'll take up the sweet refrain; 

1 hear you singing, Margery 

Spring flushes up with rosy things, 
Upon the spray the mock-bird sings, 
I list to hear if either brings 
A message from you, Margery. 

They all come back, but give no sign 
That you will ever here be mine, 
O birdling, cowslip, columbine, 
Who loved you like my Margery? 



88 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

When will you come? At eventide 
When phantom boats dark waters ride 
Which this and your pure realm divide, 
Or come at dawning, Margery ? 



When will you come? In winter's snow, 
Or when the south winds softly blow, 
And sky and earth are all aglow 
With God's bright presence, Margery? 

I'm weary of my fleshly coil, 
Weary of all my life's turmoil, 
Weary of crosses, tears and toil; 
For you I'll bear them, Margery. 

I saw the coffin, heard the bell 
That tolled the mournful funeral knell, 
I knew no more — farewell! farewell! 
Till we meet yonder, Margery. 

It seems as if all time had sped 
Since on that young and queenly head 
They heaped the clods, and called you dead, 
And broke my heart, my Margery 

I never knew death had the power 
To rend two lives in one short hour ; 
They buried you, the sweet young flower, 
And left me dying, Margery. 



FAVORITE SELECTIOMS. 89 



EDEN ADVANCING. 



REV. E. H. STOKES, D. D. 



1 WANDER 'midst buddings and blossoms, and wonder if 
Adam in bliss, 
With Eve in her beauty beside him, ever saw such gardens as 

this. 
I wonder if skies in their softness, or flowers which waved in 

the air, 
Or fountains which gleamed in the sunlight were fairer, or even 
as fair. 

Wherever I turn there is grandeur, around, beneath, and above; 
All nature is burdened with gladness, and sorrows seem sigh- 

ings of love. 
Each moment increases the rapture, as films fall off from my 

eyes, 
New beauties unfold in these pathways, each one a still higher 

surprise. 

The pansies with faces so human, are yellow, and purple, and 

blue: 
And the heliotrope, bending with fragrance, is meekly and 

modestly true; 
Geraniums in stateliness standing, as their blossoms blush in 

the sun, 
Are as rose-red plumes of the warriors, in pride of a victory 

won. 

Where clematis clings to the trellis and dew-drops are falling 

like spray; 
Wisteria, climbing still higher, rejoices in gracefulness gay. 



9° JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS" 

She hangs out her clusters of purple, and royally smiles in her 
rise, 

Blessing earth in reaching toward heaven, finds heaven de- 
scending the skies. 

I walk, and I talk with the flowers, as the grasses spring at my 
feet; 

While the leaves make music above me, and in them find rap- 
ture complete; 

Things seem so wonderfully human, like myself, or some one 
I know, 

I want them to be my companions, and go with me whither I 
go- 

I want them to soothe me in sorrow, I want them to breathe in 

my song; 
I want them to join in my triumphs, and lead me away from 

the wrong. 
To be first and fresh at the banquet, the last at the funeral 

prayer; 
And when youth and beauty are wedded, have bridal wreaths 

crowning them there. 

This garden can furnish for either, for all and have plenty to 
spare ; 

The giving which adds to the glory, makes fragrance increas- 
ingly rare. 

The fields are white-robed with the daisies, meadows glow with 
buttercups bright; 

The mountains are bursting with laurels, and brooks sing in 
summer delight. 

I smile in unfolding florescence, I revel in excess of bloom, 
Bloom leading to gardens of heaven, away from a blossomless 
doom. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS, 9 1 

Dear world of the brighter above us, I dream of thy glories in 

this; 
And, drawn by such outbursts of splendor, ascend to that centre 

of bliss. 



THE INDIAN'S REVENGE. 



FELICIA HEMANS. 



SCENE IN THE LIFE OF A MORAVIAN MISSIONARY. 

Scene. — The shore of a lake surrounded by deep woods. A solitary cabin 
on its banks overshadowed by sycamore trees. The hour is evening 
twilight. Hermann the missionary seated alone before the cabin. 

Hermann. Was that the light from some lone swift canoe 
Shooting across the waters ? No, a flash 
From the night's first quick fire-fly, lost again 
In the deep bay of cedars. Not a bark 
Is on the wave; no rustle of a breeze 
Comes through the forest. In this new, strange world, 
Oh, how mysterious, how eternal, seems 
The mighty melancholy of the woods! 
The desert's own great spirit, infinite t 
Little they know, in mine own fatherland, 
Along the castled Rhine, or e'en amidst 
The wild Hartz mountains, or the sylvan glades 
Deep in the Odenwald, they little know 
Of what is solitude! In hours like this, 
There from a thousand nooks, the cottage-hearths 
Pour forth red light through vine-hung lattices, 
To guide the peasant, singing cheerily, 
On the home path; while round his lowly porch, 
With eager eyes awaiting his return, 



92 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS" 

The clustered faces of his children shine 

To the clear harvest moon Be still, fond thoughts 

Melting my spirit's grasp from heavenly hope 

By your vain earthward yearnings. O my God! 

Draw me still nearer, closer unto Thee, 

Till all the hollow of these deep desires 

May with Thyself be filled! Be it enough 

At. once to gladden and to solemnize 

My lonely life, if for Thine altar here 

In this dread temple of the wilderness, 

By prayer and toil and watching, I may win 

The offering of one heart, one human heart, 

Bleeding, repenting, loving! 

Hark! a step, — 
An Indian tread! I know the stealthy sound. 
'Tis on some quest of evil, through the grass 
Gliding so serpent-like. 

\He comes forward, and meets an Indian warrior armed. 
Enonio, is it thou? I see thy form 
Tower stately through the dusk, yet scarce mine eye 
Discerns thy face. 

Enonio. My father speaks my name. 

Herr Are not the hunters from the chase returned? 
The night-fires lit? Why is my son abroad? 

Eno. The warrior's arrow knows of nobler prey 
Than elk or deer. Now let my father leave 
The lone path free. 

Herr. The forest way is long 

From the red chieftain's home. Rest thee awhile 
Beneath my sycamore, and we will speak 
Of these things further. 

Eno. Tell me not of rest! 

My heart is sleepless, and the dark night swift— 
I must be gone. 



FAVORITE SELECTION'S. 93 

Herr. [solemnly]. No, warrior, thou must stay, 
The Mighty One hath given me power to search 
Thy soul with piercing words — and thou must stay, 
And hear me, and give answer! If thy heart 
Be grown thus restless, is it not because 
Within its dark folds thou hast mantled up 
Some burning thought of ill? 

Eno. [impetuously]. How should I rest? 
Last night the spirit of my brother came, 
An angry shadow in the moonlight streak, 
And said, " Avenge me! " In the clouds this morn 
I saw the frowning color of his blood — 
And that, too, had a voice. I lay at noon, 
Alone beside the sounding waterfall, 
And through its thunder-music spake a tone — 
A low tone piercing all the roll of waves — 
And said, "Avenge me! " Therefore have I raised 
The tomahawk, and strung the bow again, 
That I may send the shadow from my couch, 
And take the strange sound from the cataract, 
And sleep once more. 

Herr. A better path, my son, 

Unto the still and 'dewy land of sleep, 
My hand in peace can guide thee — e'en the way 
Thy dying brother trod. Say, didst thou love 
That lost one well ? 

Eno. Knowest thou not we grew up 

Even as twin roses amidst the wilderness? 
Unto the chase we journeyed in one path ; 
We stemmed the lake in one canoe; we lay 
Beneath one oak to rest. When fever hung 
Upon my burning lips my brother's hand 
Was still beneath my head; my brother's robe 
Covered my bosom from the chill night air. 



94 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

Our lives were girdled by one belt of love, 
Until he turned him from his father's gods, 
And then my soul fell from him — then the grass 
Grew in the way between our parted homes, 
And wheresoe'er I wandered then it seemed 
That all the woods were silent — I went forth — 
I journeyed, with my lonely heart, afar, 
And so returned — and where was he ? — the earth 
Owned him no more. 

Herr. But thou thyself, since then, 

Hast turned thee from the idols of thy tribe, 
And, like thy brother, bowed the suppliant knee 
To the one God. 

Eno. Yes, I have learned to pray 

With my white father's words, yet all the more 
My heart that shut against my brother's love, 
Hath been within me as an arrowy fire, 
Burning my sleep away. In the night hush, 
'Midst the strange whispers and dim shadowy things 
Of the great forests, I have called aloud, 
"Brother! forgive, forgive! '' He answered not. 
His deep voice, rising from the land of souls, 
Cries but, "Avenge me! " and I go forth now 
To slay his murderer, that when next his eyes 
Gleam on me mournfully from that pale shore, 
I may look up, and meet their glance, and say, 
" I have avenged thee! " 

Herr. Oh! that human love 

Should be the root of this dread bitterness, 
Till heaven through all the fevered being pours 
Transmuting balsam! Stay, Enonio, stay! 
Thy brother calls thee not! The spirit world 
Where the departed go, sends back to earth 
No visitants for evil. 'Tis the might 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 95 

Of the strong passion, the remorseful grief 

At work in thine own breast, which lends the voice 

Unto the forest and the cataract, 

The angry color to the clouds of morn, 

The shadow to the moonlight. Stay ; my son, 

Thy brother is at peace. Beside his couch, 

When of the murderer's poisoned shaft he died, 

I knelt and prayed; he named his Saviour's name, 

Meekly, beseechingly; he spoke of thee 

In pity and in love. 

Eno. [hurriedly]. Did he not say 
My arrow should avenge him? 

Herr. His last words were all forgiveness. 

Eno. What! and shall the man 
Who pierced him with the shaft of treachery, 
Walk fearless forth in joy? 

Herr. Was he not once thy brother's friend? 
Oh! trust me, not in joy 

He walks the frowning forest. Did keen love, 
Too late repentant of its heart estranged, 
Wake in thy haunted bosom, with its train 
Of sounds and shadows — and shall he escape? 
Enonio, dream it not! Our God, the All-just, 
Unto Himself reserves this royalty — 
The secret chastening of the guilty heart, 
The fiery touch, the scourge that purifies — 
Leave it with Him! Yet make it not thy hope, 
For that strong heart of thine — oh! listen yet — 
Must, in its depths, o'ercome the very wish 
For death or torture to the guilty one, 
Ere it can sleep again. 

Eno. My father speaks 

Of change for man too mighty. 

Herr. I but speak 



96 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

Of that which hath been, and again must be, 

If thou wouldst join thy brother in the life 

Of the bright country where, I well believe, 

His soul rejoices. He had known such change. 

He died in peace. He whom his tribe once named 

"The avenging eagle," took to his meek heart, 

In its last pangs, the spirit of those words 

Which from the Saviour's cross went up to heaven — 

" Forgive them, for they knew not what they do, 

Father, forgive ! " And o'er the eternal bounds 

Of that celestial kingdom, undefiled, 

Where evil may not enter, he, I deem, 

Hath to his Master passed. He waits thee there — 

For love, we trust, springs heavenward from the grave, 

Immortal in its holiness. He calls 

His brother to the land of golden light 

And ever-living fountains. Couldst thou hear 

His voice o'er those bright waters, it would say, 

" My brother! oh, be pure, be merciful ! 

That we may meet again." 

Eno. [hesitatingly]. Can I return 

Unto my tribe and unavenged ? 

Herr. To Him, 

To Him return from Whom thine erring steps 
Have wandered far and long! Return, my son, 
To thy Redeemer! Died He not in love — 
The Sinless, the Divine, the Son of God — 
Breathing forgiveness 'midst all His agonies, 
And we, dare we be ruthless? By His aid 
Shalt thou be guided to thy brother's place 
'Midst the pure spirits. Oh! retrace thy way 
Back to the Saviour! He rejects no heart 
E'en with the dark stains on it, if true tears 
Be o'er them showered. Aye, weep thou, Indian chief! 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 97 

For by the kindling moonlight I behold 
Thy proud lips' working — weep, relieve thy soul! 
Tears will not shame thy manhood, in the hour 
Of its great conflict. 

Eno. [giving up his weapons]. Father, take the bow; 
Keep the sharp arrows till the hunters call 
Forth to the chase once more . And let me dwell 
A little while, my father, by thy side, 
That I may hear the blessed words again — 
Like water-brooks amidst the summer hills — 
From thy true lips flow forth; for in my heart 
The music and the memory of their sound 
Too long have died away. 

Herr. Oh, welcome back, 

Friend, rescued one! Yes, thou shalt be my guest, 
And we will pray beneath my sycamore 
Together, morn and eve; and I will spread 
Thy couch beside my fire, and sleep at last, 
After the visiting of holy thoughts, 
With dewy wing shall sink upon thine eyes! 
Enter my home, and welcome, welcome back 
To peace, to God, thou lost and found again! 
[They enter cabin together. Herrmann lingers to look up to the 

skies. ] 
Father! that from amidst yon glorious worlds 
Now look'st on us, Thy children! make this hour 
Blessed for ever! May it see the birth 
Of Thine own image in the unfathomed deep 
Of an immortal soul — a thing to name 
With reverential thought, a solemn world! 
To Thee more precious than those thousand stars 
Burning on high in Thy majestic heaven! 
7 



98 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

"FATHER, TAKE MY HAND." 



THE way is dark, my Father! Cloud on cloud 
Is gathering thickly o'er my head, and loud 
The thunders roar above me. See, I stand 
Like one bewildered! Father, take my hand, 
And through the gloom 
Lead safely home 
Thy child! 

The day goes fast, my Father! and the night 
Is drawing darkly down. My faithless sight 
Sees ghostly visions. Fears, a spectral band, 
Encompass me. O Father! take my hand, 

And from the night 

.Lead up to light 
Thy child! 

The way is long, my Father! and my soul 
Longs for the rest and quiet of the goal ; 
While yet I journey through this weary land, 
Keep me from wandering. Father, take my hand 

Quickly and straight 

Lead to heaven's gate 
Thy child! 

The path is rough, my Father! Many a thorn 
Has pierced me; and my weary feet, all torn 
And bleeding, mark the way. Yet Thy command 
Bids me press forward. Father, take my hand; 
Then, safe and blest, 
• Lead up to rest 
Thy child! 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 99 

The throng is great, my Father! Many a doubt 
And fear and danger compass me about, 
And foes oppress me sore. I cannot stand 
Or go alone. O Father! take my hand, 

And through the throng 

Lead safe along 
Thy child! 

The cross is heavy, Father! I have borne 
It long, and still do bear it. Let my worn 
And fainting spirit rise to that blest land 
Where crowns are given. Father, take my hand; 

And reaching down, 

Lead to the crown 
Thy child! 



THREE DAYS IN THE LIFE OF COLUMBUS. 



JEAN F. C. DELAVIGNE. 



ON the deck stood Columbus; the ocean's expanse, 
Untried and unlimited, swept by his glance. 
"Back to Spain!" cry his men: "Put the vessel about! 
We venture no further through danger and doubt." 
"Three days, and I give you a world! " he replied; 
"Bear up, my brave comrades; three days shall decide." 
He sails — but no token of land is in sight; 
He sails — but the day shows no more than the night. 
On, onward he sails, while in vain o'er the lee 
The lead is plunged down through a fathomless sea. 

The pilot, in silence, leans mournfully o'er 
The rudder which creaks 'mid the billowy roar: 



ioo JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

He hears the hoarse moan of the spray-driving blast, 

And its funeral wail through the shrouds of the mast. 

The stars of far Europe have sunk from the skies, 

And the great Southern Cross meets his terrified eyes; 

But at length, the slow dawn softly streaking the night 

Illumes the blue vault with its faint crimson light. 

"Columbus! 'tis day, and the darkness is o'er." 

" Day! and what dost thou see? '' " Sky and ocean. No more! 

The second day's past, and Columbus is sleeping, 

While Mutiny near him its vigil is keeping. 

" Shall he perish?" "Ay! death!" is the barbarous cry ; 

"He must triumph to-morrow, or, perjured, must die!" 

Ungrateful and blind! shall the world-linking sea, 

He traced for the future, his sepulchre be? 

Shall that sea, on the morrow, with pitiless waves, 

Fling his corse on that shore which his patient eye craves ? 

The corse of an humble adventurer, then ; 

One day later — Columbus, the first among men! 

But, hush! he is dreaming! A veil on the main, 

At the distant horizon, is parted in twain, 

And now, on his dreaming eye, rapturous sight! 

Fresh bursts the New World from the darkness of night. 

O vision of glory! how dazzling it seems' 

How glistens the verdure! how sparkle the streams! 

How blue the far mountains! how glad the green isles; 

And the earth and the ocean, how dimpled with smiles. 

"Joy! joy! " cries Columbus, "this region is mine!" 

Ah! not e'en its name, wondrous dreamer is thine' 

But, lo! his dream changes; a vision less brighc 
Comes to darken and banish that scene of delight. 



— 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 

The gold-seeking Spaniards, a merciless band, 
Assail the meek natives, and ravish the land. 
He sees the fair palace, the temple on fire, 
And the peaceful cazique 'mid their ashes expire. 
He sees, too — O saddest! O mournfullest sight! — 
The crucifix gleam in the thick of the fight. 
More terrible far than the merciless steel 
Is the uplifted cross in the red hand of zeal! 

Again the dream changes. Columbus looks forth, 
And a bright constellation beholds in the North. 
'Tis the herald of empire! A people appear, 
Impatient of wrong, and unconscious of fear! 
They level the forest ; they ransack the seas ; 
Each zone finds their canvas unfurled to the breeze. 
"Hold! " Tyranny cries; but their resolute breath 
Sends back the reply, "Independence or death!" 
The ploughshare they turn to a weapon of might, 
And, defying all odds, they go forth to the fight. 

They have conquered! The people, with grateful acclaim 

Look to Washington's guidance from Washington's fame. 

Behold Cincinnatus and Cato combined 

In his patriot heart and republican mind. 

O type of true manhood ! What sceptre or crown 

But fades in the light of thy simple renown? 

And lo! by the side of the hero, a sage, 

In freedom's behalf, sets his mark on the age; 

Whom science adoringly hails, while he wrings 

The lightning from heaven, the sceptre from kings! 

At length, o'er Columbus slow consciousness breaks. 
"Land! land!" cry the sailors; " land! land!" he awakes- 
He runs — ye«! behold it! It blesseth his sight; 
The land! O dear spectacle ! transport! delight! 



102 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

O generous sobs, which he cannot restrain! 

What will Ferdinand say? and the future? and Spain? 

He will lay this fair land at the foot of the throne; 

His king will repay all the ills he has known. 

In exchange for a world what are honors and gains? 

Or a crown? But how is he rewarded? With chains! 



KISSING THE ROD. 



JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. 



HEART of mine, we shouldn't 
Worry so! 
What we've missed of calm we couldn't 

Have, you know! 
What we've met of stormy pain, 
And of sorrow's driving rain, 
We can better meet again 
If it blow. 

We have erred in that dark hour 

We have known 
When our tears fell with the shower 

All alone — 
Were not shine and shadow blent 
As the gracious Master meant? 
Let us temper our content 

With His own. 

For we know not every morrow 

Can be sad; 
So, forgetting all the sorrow 

We have had, 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 103 

Let us fold away our fears 
And put by our foolish tears 
And through all the coming years 
Just be glad. 



STATION DESPAIR. 



JOAQUIN MILLER. 



W 



E must trust the conductor, most surely 
Why, millions of millions before 
Have made this same journey securely 

And come to that ultimate shore. 
And we, we will reach it in season; 

And ah, what a welcome is there! 
Reflect, then, how out of all reason 

To stop at the Station Despair. 

Ay, midnights and many a potion 

Of little black water have we 
As we journey from ocean to ocean — 

From sea unto ultimate sea — 
To that deep sea of seas and all silence 

Of passion, concern and of care — 
That vast sea of Eden-set islands, 

Don't stop at the Station Despair! 

Go forward, whatever may follow. 

Go forward, friend led, or alone; 
Ah, me! to leap off in some hollow 

Or fen, in the night and unknown — 
Leap off like a thief; try to hide you 

From angels, all waiting you there! 
Go forward ! whatever betide you, 

Don't stop at that Station Despair ! 



04 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 



SHE WAS "SOMEBODY'S MOTHER." 



MARY D. BRINE. 



THE woman was old and ragged and gray, 
And bent with the chill of the winter's day; 
The street was wet with the winter's snow, 
And the woman's feet were aged and slow. 
She stood at the crossing and waited long, 
Alone, uncared-for amid a throng 
Of human beings who passed her by, 
Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye. 
Down the street with laughter and shout, 
Glad in the freedom of school let out, 
Came the boys like a flock of sheep, 
Hailing the snow, piled white and deep. 
Past the woman so old and gray 
Hastened the children on their way, 
Nor offered a helping hand to her, 
So meek, so timid, afraid to stir, 
Lest the carriage wheels or horses' feet 
Should crowd her down in the slippery street. 
At last came one of the merry troop, 
The gayest laddie of all the group. 
He paused beside her and whispered low: 
" I'll help you across if you wish to go." 
Her aged hand on his strong young arm 
She placed, and without hurt or harm 
He guided the trembling feet along, 
Proud that his own were firm and strong. 
Then back again to his friends he went, 
His young heart happy and well content. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 105 

"She's somebody's mother, boys, you know, 

For all she's old and poor and slow; 

And I hope some fellow will lend a hand 

To help my mother, you understand, 

If ever she's old and poor and gray, 

When her own dear boy is far away." 

And "somebody's mother" bowed low her head 

In her home that night, and the prayer she said 

Was: " God be kind to the noble boy, 

Who is somebody's son and pride and joy." 



RELIGIO ACADEMIC! 



WHAT? You have nowhere found Him? And I, I see 
Him around me 
Everywhere; here first, throned in the spirit of man. 
Not in the rushing of worlds, or the timeless passage of ages; 

Not in the sunbuilt arch; not in the cataract's roar; 
Not in the mightiest wing that soars o'er the summit of Andes; 

Not in the tiniest life born in a drop of the sea! 
But in the human spirit! O man, imperial master, 

Swifter than light thought-borne through the great ocean on 
high, 
Tracking a sunbeam here, and there with balance gigantic 
Holding a star in thy hand, puny but weighing a world: 
" Know thyself,' 1 yet greater than all thy vision beholdeth;, 

Wonderful all, yet thou wonderful even beyond! 
Hark! 'Tis His voice; thou hearest Him. A God is speak- 
ing within thee; 
Terrible now it commands; Sinai thunders within: 
"This thou shalt, thou shalt not." Anon, as after the thunder 
Follows a gentle rain, soft with the piping of birds, 



ro6 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

So in the calm still bosom is heard the cry of a Father. 

Tenderly now it approves: " Son, be thou ever with me! " 
Beautiful! Here is beauty, above the hue of the rainbow; 

Majesty stern, but sweet; father and mother in one. 
Rainbow-promise is good; but beacon-warning is better, 

Over the lurid waves lighting the mariner home. 

And thou hast loved her, Beauty? Thou dost well. 'Tis a 
maiden 
Fairer than words her smile drawn from the bosom of love. 
Guard her, and let no touch of the beast or satyr assail her! 

Honor her; hear from her lips, ponder her story divine; 
Who, when the morning stars in the bridal joy of creation 
Shouted her birth, came forth loveliest daughter of God; 
Came and to cheer men's souls, with the brake and briar con- 
tending, 
Gave to the thistle a bloom, budded a rose on the thorn; 
Flowers in her track sprang up as she passed, and winds of the 
woodland 
Sighed into melody: man heard, and his spirit grew mild. 
Fair is she — fairer than all. But shall her beauty ensnare thee 
Slave to her smile, love-bound, yearning for nothing beyond ? 
Dreamer, content with a dream, and the sunlit wall of a dun- 
geon 
Deeming a palace? A cell seeming a kingdom to thee? 
Nay, but, O man, look upward! Her hand shall lift thee, and 
lead thee 
Up to the home of her birth, back to her Father and thine; 
Up through the burnished clouds, and the flaming track of the 
sunset; 
Up through the golden stars, gleam of a glory beyond; 
World flashing light to world as they pass, like ships in the 
darkness 
Showing a light, then soon dash into darkness again; 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. .107 

Up through the endless spaces, expansion after expansion; 

Up to the great white throne; up to the presence of God! 
There shall she fold her wing, and, all her mission accom- 
plished, 

Join with the spirits on high, singing to ravish the spheres: 
"Glory to God in the highest." The lifelong struggle is over; 

Over, the fire and the fret; over, the rack and the pain; 
Failure of hope; love's discord! The joy that ended in mad- 
ness, 

Over at last! Life closed, like its beginning, in tears! 
Mystery all, for God was the cause. But love in the distance, 

Holding an amaranth crown, love was the goal of it all. 



CHICKENS. 



r DIDN'T," says Chip. " You did," says Peep. 



1 



" How do you know ? You were fast asleep. 
" I was under mammy's wing, 
Stretching my legs like anything, 
When all of a sudden I turned around, 
For close beside me I heard a sound — 
A little tip and a little tap." 
"Fiddle dee-dee! You'd had a nap, 
And when you were only half awake 
Heard an icicle somewhere break." 
"What's an icicle?" "I don't know; 
Rooster tells about ice and snow — 
Something that isn't as good as meal, 
That drops down on you and makes you squeal !" 
"Well, swallow Rooster's tales, I beg! 
And think you didn't come out of an egg. 



io8 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

I tell you I heard the old shell break, 

And the first small noise you ever could make. 

And mammy croodled. and puffed her breast, 

And pushed us farther out of the nest 

Just to make room enough for you; 

And there's your shell — I say it's true!" 

Chip looked over his shoulder then 

And there it lay, by the old gray hen, 

Half an egg-shell, chipped and brown, 

And he was a ball of yellow down, 

Clean and chipper and smart and spry, 

With the pertest bill and the blackest eye. 

" H'm!' said he, with a little perk, 

"That is a wonderful piece of work! 

Peep, you silly! don't you see 

That shell isn't nearly as big as me ? 

Whatever you say, miss, I declare 

I never, never, never could get in there!" 

"You did," says Peep. "I didn't," says Chip; 

With that he gave her a horrid nip, 

And Peep began to dance and peck, 

And Chip stuck out his wings and neck. 

They pranced and struck and capered about, 

Their toes turned in and their wings spread out, 

As angry as two small chicks could be, 

Till Mother Dorking turned to see. 

She cackled and clucked and called in vain; 

At it they went with might and main, 

Till at last the old hen used her beak, 

And Peep and Chip, with many a squeak, 

Staggered off on either side 

With a very funny skip and stride. 

"What dreadful nonsense," said Mother Hen, 

When she heard the story told again. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 109 

"You're bad as the two legs that don't have wings, 

Nor feathers, nor combs — the wretched things. 

That's the way they fight and talk 

For what isn't worth a mullein stalk. 

What does it matter, I'd like to know, 

Where you came from or where you go ? 

Keep your temper and earn your food; 

I can't scratch worms for a fighting brood. 

I won't have quarrels; I will have peace; 

I hatched out chickens, so don't be geese!" 

Chip scratched his ear with his yellow claw, 

The meekest chicken that ever you saw ; 

And Peep in her feathers curled one leg, 

And said to herself: " But he was an egg!" 



MY KATE. 



ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 



SHE was not as pretty as women I know, 
And yet all your best, made of sunshine and snow, 
Drop to shade, melt to naught in the long-trodden ways. 
While she's still remembered on warm and cold days — 

My Kate. 

Her air had a meaning, her movements a grace; 
You turned from the fairest to gaze on her face; 
And when you had once seen her forehead and mouth, 
You saw as distinctly her soul and her truth — 

My Kate. 

Such a blue inner light from her eyelids outbroke, 
♦You looked at her silence and fancied she spoke; 



JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

When she did, so peculiar yet soft was the tone, 
Though the loudest spoke also, you heard her alone — 

My Kate. 

I doubt if she said to you much that could act 
As a thought or suggestion; she did not attract 
In the sense of the brilliant or wise. I infer 
'Twas her thinking of others, made you think of her — 

My Kate. 

She never found fault with you, never implied 
Your wrong by her right; and yet men at her side 
Grew nobler, girls purer, as through the whole town 
The children were gladder that pulled at her gown — 

My Kate. 

None knelt at her feet confessed lovers in thrall ; 

They knelt more to God than they used — that was all. 

If you praised her as charming, some asked what you 

meant, 
But the charm of her presence was felt when she went — 

My Kate. 

The weak and the gentle, the ribald and rude, 
She took as she found them, and did them all good; 
It always was so with her — see what you have! 
She has made the grass greener even here with her grave — 

My Kate. 

My dear one! when thou wast alive with the rest, 
I held thee the sweetest and loved thee the best; 
And now thou art dead, shall I not take thy part 
As thy smiles used to do for thyself, my sweetheart — 

My Kate? 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. in 



THE BOOTBLACK. 



HERE y' are! Black your boots, boss? Do it for just five 
cents. 
Shine 'em up in a minute — that is, if nuthin' prevents. 
Set your foot right down there, sir; the mornin's kinder cold, 
Sorter rough on a feller when his coat's gettin' old. 
Well, yes, call it a coat, though it ain't much more'n a tear; 
Can't^git myself another — hain't got the stamps to spare. 
Well, yes, make's much's most on 'em, that's so; but then, 

you see, 
They've only one to care for; there's two of us, Jack and me. 

Him? Why, that little feller with a double-up sorter back, 

Settin' there on the gratin' a-sunnin' hisself — that's Jack. 

He used to be 'round sellin' papers — the cars there was his 

lay; 
But he got shoved down the stairs onto the pavement last May. 
Yes, sir! his father did it, when he'd been drinkin' one day; 
He didn't care if he killed him — 'twas all owin' to liquor, they 

say. 
He's never been all right since, sir, sorter quiet and queer; 
Him and me go tergether, he's what they call cashier. 

High old style for a bootblack! made all the fellows laugh; 
Jack and me had to take it, but we didn't need no chaff. 
Trouble? I guess not much, sir; sometimes when biz gits 

slack 
I don't know how I'd stand it if 'twasn't for little Jack. 
Why, boss! you ought ter hear him; he says we needn't care 
How rough luck is down here, sir, if some day we git up there. 
There! all done now! How's that? shine like a pair of lamps! 
Mornin' ; give it to Jack, sir; he takes care o' the stamps. 



JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 



OLD BEN'S TRUST. 



DO you think I'm afraid of dyin' becos I would ruther live, 
And hang on to my mis'able chances and what they are 
likely to give 
In the way of good eatin' and drinkin', with the 'pepsy 

a-houndin' me so, 
And havin' to den up in winter like a bear, with the earliest 

snow ? 
No, sir! I tell you that dyin' is leaviri' the things that we 

know, 
And floatin' out into strange waters, all dark, above and below. 
I keer nothin' for New Jerusalum ; I know 'twouldn't seem like 

hum, 
'Cos where they have things so splendid they don't expect 
poor folks to come. 



But oh! if the singin' in heaven was the hum of the wind in 

the pines, 
Or the noise of the brook and the river where the brook and 

the river jines; 
If the birds was to sing hallelujar, as they do in the bushes all 

day, 
And the little brown chippies should chatter, and the locus'es 

chirrup away; 
If them streets was kivered with mosses, and shaded with trees 

overhead, 
With leaves droppin' down in a shower, painted purple, and 

yellow, and red: 
If over that wonderful river I could go all alone to float 
In and out among the lilies with only just Maje in my boat; 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 113 

If I could hear Maje before me a-barkin' along the trail 

I should know there was somethin' to foller that wouldn't be 

likely to fail, 
And I'd lay down my head contented to let the moss over me 

grow 
As it does on the trees in the forest, and say I was willin' to 

go- 
lf the Lord has allers been with me, and held me fast by the 

hand 
When the fog kivered up the valleys and I'd lost the lay of 

the land, 
And 'twas safe to trust Him so fur I'll trust Him the very last 

mile; 
He knows where' to look when He wants me without hailin' 

Him all of the while, 



A WOMAN'S COMPLAINT. 



I KNOW that deep within your heart of hearts 
You hold me shrined apart from common things, 
And that my step, my voice can bring to you 
A gladness that no other presence brings. 

And yet, dear love, through all the weary days 
You never speak one word of tenderness, 

Nor stroke my hair, nor softly clasp my hand 
Within your own in loving, mute caress. 

You think, perhaps, I should be all content 
To know so well the loving place I hold 

Within your life, and so you do not dream 
How much I long to hear the story told. 
8 



H4 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

You cannot know, when we two sit alone 

And tranquil thoughts within your mind are stirred, 

My heart is crying like a tired child, 

For one fond look, one gentle, loving word. 

It may be when your eyes look into mine 
You only say, " How dear she is to me!" 

Oh, could I read it in your softened glance, 
How radiant this plain old world would be! 

Perhaps, sometimes, you breathe a secret prayer 
That choicest blessings unto me be given; 

But if you said aloud, "God bless thee, dear!" 
I should not ask a greater boon from heaven. 

I weary sometimes of the rugged way ; 

But should you say, "Through thee my life is sweet, 
The dreariest desert that our path could cross 

Would suddenly grow green beneath my feet. 

'Tis not the boundless waters ocean holds 
That give refreshment to the thirsty flowers, 

But just the drops that, rising to the skies, 

From thence descend in softly falling showers. 

What matter that our granaries are filled 
With all the richest harvest's golden stores, 

If we who own them cannot enter in, 

But famished stand before the close-barred doors! 

And so 'tis sad that those who should be rich 
In that true love which crowns our earthly lot, 

Go praying with white lips from day to day, 
For love's sweet tokens, and receive them not. 






FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 1 15 



A LEGEND OF BREGENZ. 



ADELAIDE A. PROCTER. 



GIRT round with rugged mountains the fair Lake Constance 
lies; 
In her blue heart reflected, shine back the starry skies; 
And watching each white cloudlet float silently and slow, 
You think a piece of heaven lies on our earth below! 

Midnight is there ; and Silence enthroned in heaven, looks down 

Upon her own calm mirror, upon a sleeping town. 

For Bregenz, that quaint city upon the Tyrol shore, 

Has stood above Lake Constance a thousand years and more. 

Her battlements and towers, upon their rocky steep, 

Have cast their trembling shadows for ages on the deep; 

Mountain and lake and valley a sacred legend know, 

Of how the town was saved one night, three hundred years ago. 

Far from her home and kindred a Tyrol maid had fled, 
To serve in the Swiss valleys, and toil for daily bread; 
And every year that fleeted so silently and fast, 
Seemed to bear farther from her the memory of the past. 

She served kind, gentle masters, nor asked for rest or change; 
Her friends seemed no more new ones, their speech seemed no 

more strange; 
And when she led her cattle to pasture every day, 
She ceased to look and wonder on which side Bregenz lay. 

She spoke no more of Bregenz, with longing and with tears; 
Her Tyrol home seemed faded in a deep mist of years; 



Il6 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

She heeded not the rumors of Austrian war or strife; 
Each day she rose contented, to the calm toils of life. 

Yet, when her master's children would clustering round her 

stand, 
She sang them ancient ballads of her own native land; 
And when at morn and evening she knelt before God's throne, 
The accents of her childhood rose to her lips alone. 

And so she dwelt. The valley more peaceful year by year; 
When suddenly strange portents of some great deed seemed 

near. 
The golden corn was bending upon its fragile stalk, 
While farmers, heedless of their fields, paced up and down in 

talk. 

The men seemed stern and altered, with looks cast on the 

ground ; 
With anxious faces, one by one, the women gathered round; 
All talk of flax, or spinning, or work, was put away; 
The very children seemed afraid to go alone to play. 

One day, out in the meadow with strangers from the town, 
Some secret plan discussing, the men walked up and down. 
Yet now and then seemed watching a strange uncertain gleam, 
That looked like lances 'mid the trees that stood below the 
stream. 

At eve they all assembled, all care and doubt were fled; 
With jovial laugh they feasted, the board was nobly spread. 
The elder of the village rose up, his glass in hand, 
And cried, "We drink the downfall of an accursed land! 

" The night is growing darker, ere one more day is flown, 
Bregenz, our foemen's stronghold, Bregenz shall be our own!" 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 1 17 

The women shrank in terror (yet pride, too, had her part) ; 
But one poor Tyrol maiden felt death within her heart. 

Before her, stood fair Bregenz, once more her towers arose ; 
What were the friends beside her? Only her country's foes! 
The faces of her kinsfolk, the days of childhood flown, 
The echoes of her mountains reclaimed her as their own! 

Nothing she heard around her (though shouts rang forth again), 
Gone were the green Swiss valleys, the pasture, and the plain; 
Before her eyes one vision, and in her heart one cry, 
That said, " Go forth, save Bregenz, and then, if need be, die!" 

With trembling haste and breathless, with noiseless step she 

sped , 
Horses and weary cattle were standing in the shed; 
She loosed the strong white charger, that fed from out her hand, 
She mounted and she turned his head toward her native land. 

Out — out into the darkness — faster, and still more fast; 
The smooth grass flies behind her, the chestnut wood is passed; 
She looks up , clouds are heavy : Why is her steed so slow — 
Scarcely the wind beside them can pass them as they go. 

"Faster!" she cries, 'Oh, faster!" Eleven the church-bells 

chime ; 
"O God," she cries, "'help Bregenz, and bring me there in 

time!" 
But louder than bells' ringing, or lowing of the kine, 
Grows nearer in the midnight the rushing of the Rhine. 

Shall not the roaring waters their headlong gallop check? 
The steed draws back in terror, she leans above his neck 



n8 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

To watch the flowing darkness, the bank is high and steep, 
One pause — he staggers forward, and plunges in the deep! 



She strives to pierce the blackness and looser throws the rein; 
Her steed must breast the waters that dash above his mane. 
How gallantly, how nobly, he struggles through the foam, 
And see — in the far distance, shine out the lights of home! 

Up the steep bank he bears her, and now they rush again 
Toward the heights of Bregenz, that tower above the plain. 
They reach the gate of Bregenz just as the midnight rings, 
And out come serf and soldier to meet the news she brings. 

Bregenz is saved! Ere daylight her battlements are manned; 
Defiance greets the army that marches on the land. 
And if to deeds heroic should endless fame be paid, 
Bregenz does well to honor the noble Tyrol maid. 

Three hundred years are vanished, and yet upon the hill 
An old stone gateway rises, to do her honor still. 
And there, when Bregenz women sit spinning in the shade, 
They see in quaint old carving, the charger and the maid. 

And when, to guard old Bregenz, by gateway, street, and 

tower, 
The warder paces all night long, and calls each passing hour: 
"Nine," "ten," "eleven," he cries aloud, and then (O crown 

of fame') 
When midnight pauses in the skies he calls the maiden's name. 



. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS, 119 



A SECOND TRIAL. 



SARAH WINTER KELLOGG. 



IT was Commencement at one of our colleges. The people 
were pouring into the church as I entered it, rather tardy. 
Finding the choice seats in the centre of the audience-room al- 
ready taken, I pressed forward, looking to the right and to the 
left for a vacancy On the very front row of seats I found 
one. 

A little girl moved along to make room for me, looking into 
my face with large gray eyes, whose brightness was softened 
by very long lashes. Her face was open and fresh as a newly 
blown rose before sunrise. Again and again I found my eyes 
turning to the roselike face, and each time the gray eyes 
moved, half-smiling, to meet mine. Evidently the child was 
ready to "make up" with me. And when, with a bright smile, 
she returned my dropped handkerchief, and I said, " Thank 
you!" we seemed fairly introduced. Other persons, now com- 
ing into the seat, crowded me quite close up against the little 
girl, so that we soon felt very well acquainted. 

"There's going to be a great crowd," she said to me. 

"Yes, " I replied; "people always like to see how school- 
boys are made into men." 

Her face beamed with pleasure and pride as she said: 

"My brother's going to graduate; he's going to speak; I've 
brought these flowers to throw to him." 

They were not greenhouse favorites; just old-fashioned flow- 
ers, such as we associate with the dear grandmothers; "but," 
I thought, "they will seem sweet and beautiful to him for his 
little sister's sake " 

"That is my brother/' she went on, pointing with her-nose- 
§ay. 



120 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

"The one with the light hair?" I asked. 

"Oh, no," she said, smiling and shaking her head in inno- 
cent reproof ; "not that homely one; that handsome one with 
brown wavy hair. His eyes look brown, too; but they are not 
— they are dark blue. There! he's got his hand up to his 
head now. You see him, don't you?" 

In an eager way she looked from me to him, and from him to 
me, as if some important fate depended upon my identifying 
her brother. 

"I see him," I said. "He's a very good-looking brother." 

"He is beautiful, and he's so good, and he studies so hard. 
He has taken care of me ever since mamma died. Here is his 
name on the program. He is not the valedictorian, but he 
has an honor, for all that." 

I saw in the little creature's familiarity with these technical 
College terms that she had closely identified herself with her 
brother's studies, hopes, and successes. 

"His oration is a real good one, and he says it beautifully. 
He has said it to me a great many times. I 'most know it by 
heart. Oh! it begins so pretty and so grand. This is the way 
it begins," she added, encouraged by the interest she must have 
seen in my face: "'Amid the permutations and combinations 
of the actors and the forces which make up the great kaleido- 
scope of history, we often find that a turn of Destiny's 
hand ' " 

"Why, bless the baby!" I thought, looking down into her 
bright, proud face. I can't describe how very odd and elfish it 
did seem to have those sonorous words rolling out of the smil- 
ing infantile mouth. 

As the exercises progressed, and approached nearer and 
nearer the effort on which all her interest was concentrated, 
my little friend became excited and restless. Her eyes grew 
larger and brighter, two deep red spots glowed on her cheeks. 

" Now it's his turn," she said, turning to me a face in which 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 12 1 

pride and delight and anxiety seemed about equally mingled. 
But when the overture was played through, and his name was 
called, the child seemed, in her eagerness, to forget me and all 
the earth beside him. She rose to her feet and leaned forward 
for a better view of her beloved, as he mounted to the speakers' 
stand. I knew by her deep breathing that her heart was throb- 
bing in her throat. I knew, too, by the way her brother came 
up the steps and to the front that he was trembling. The 
hands hung limp; his face was pallid, and the lips blue as 
with cold. I felt anxious. The child, too, seemed to discern 
that things were not well with him. Something like fear 
showed in her face. He made an automatic bow. Then a be- 
wildered, struggling look came into his face, then a helpless 
look, and then he stood staring vacantly, like a somnambulist, 
at the waiting audience. The moments of painful suspense 
went by, and still he stood as if struck dumb. I saw how it 
was; he had been seized with stage-fright. 

Alas! little sister! She turned her large, dismayed eyes 
upon me. "He's forgotten it," she said. Then a swift change 
came into her face; a strong, determined look; and on the 
funeral-like silence of the room broke the sweet, brave child- 
voice: 

"'Amid the permutations and combinations of the actors 
and the forces which make up the great kaleidoscope of his- 
tory, we often find that a turn of Destiny's hand ' 

Everybody about us turned and looked. The breathless si- 
lence; the sweet, childish voice; the childish face; the long, 
unchildlike words, produced a weird effect. But the help had 
come too late; the unhappy brother was already staggering in 
humiliation from the stage. The band quickly struck up, and 
waves of lively music rolled out to cover the defeat. 

I gave the little sister a glance in which I meant to> show 
the intense sympathy I felt; but she did not see me. Her 
eyes, swimming with tears, were on her brother's, £ace> I put 



122 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

my arm around her, but she was too absorbed to heed the ca- 
ress, and before I could appreciate her purpose, she was on her 
way to the shame-stricken young man sitting with a face like a 
statue's. When he saw her by his side the set face relaxed, 
and a quick mist came into his eyes. The young men got 
closer together to make room for her. She sat down beside 
him, laid her flowers on his knee, and slipped her hand in his. 

I could not keep my eyes from her sweet, pitying face. I 
saw her whisper to him, he bending a little to catch her words. 
Later, I found out that she was asking him if he knew his 
" piece" now, and that he answered yes. 

When the young man next on the list had spoken, and while 
the band was playing, the child, to the brother's great surprise, 
made her way up the stage steps, and pressed through the 
throng of professors and trustees and distinguished visitors, 
up to the college president. 

"If you please, sir," she said with a little courtesy, "will 
you and the trustees let my brother try again? He knows his 
piece now." 

For a moment the president stared at her through his spec- 
tacles, and then, appreciating the child's petition, he smiled on 
her, and went down and spoke to the young man who had failed.- 

So it happened that when the band had again ceased playing, 

it was briefly announced that Mr. would now deliver his 

oration, " IJistorical Parallels." 

A ripple of heightened and expectant interest passed over 
the audience, and then all sat stone still, as though fearing to 
breathe lest the speaker might again take fright. No danger! 
The hero in the youth was aroused He went at his "piece" 
with a set purpose to conquer, to redeem himself, and to bring 
the smile back into the child's tear-stained face. I watched 
the face during the speaking. The wide eyes, the parted lips, 
the whole rapt being said that the breathless audience was 
forgotten, that her spirit was moving with his. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 123 

When the address was ended with the ardent abandon of one 
who catches enthusiasm in the realization that he is fighting 
down a wrong judgment and conquering a sympathy, the effect 
was really thrilling. That dignified audience broke into rapt- 
urous applause; bouquets intended for the valedictorian rained 
like a tempest. And the child who had helped to save the 
day — that one beaming little face, in its pride and gladness, is 
something to be remembered forever. 



DUTY. 



JOHANN C. F. VON SCHILLER. 



W 



4 W 7HAT shall I do to be forever known?" 

Thy duty ever. 
"This did full many who yet sleep unknown." 

Oh, never, never! 
Think' st thou perchance that they remain unknown 

Whom thou know'st not? 
By angel trumps in heaven their praise is blown — 

Divine their lot. 



"What shall I do to gain eternal life?" 

Discharge aright 
The simple dues with which each day is rife, 

Yea, with thy might. 
Ere perfect scheme of action thou devise, 

Will life be fled; 
While he who ever acts as conscience cries, 

Shall live, though dead. 



124 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

DER OAK UND DER VINE. 



CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS. 



IDON'D vas breaching voman's righdts, or anyding like dot, 
Und I likes to see all beoples shust gondented mit dheir 
lot; 
But I vants to gondradict dot shap dot made dis leedle shoke: 
" A voman vas der glinging vine, und man der shturdy oak." 

Berhaps, somedimes, dot may be drue ; biidt, den dimes oudt 

off nine, 
I find me oudt dot man himself vas peen der glinging vine; 
Und ven hees friendts dhey all vas gone, und he vas shust " tead 

proke," 
Dot's vhen der voman shteps righdt in, und peen der shturdy 

oak. 

Shust go oup to der paseball groundts und see dhose "shturdy 
oaks" 

All planted roundt ubon der seats — shust hear dheir laughs und 
shokes! 

Dhen see dhose vomens at der tubs, mit glothes oudt on der 
lines; 

Vhich vas der shturdy oaks, mine frendts, und vhich der gling- 
ing vines ? 

Ven sickness in der householdt gomes, und veeks und veeks he 

shtays, 
Who vas id fighdts him mitout resdt, dhose veary nighdts und 

days ? 
Who beace und gomfort alvays prings, und gools dot fefered 

prow ? 
More like id vas der dender vine dot oak he glings to, now. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 125 

:: Man vants budt leedle here pelow," der boet von dime said; 
Dhere's leedle dot man he don' d vant, I dink id means, in- 

shted; 
Und vhen der years keep rolling on, dheir gares und droubles 

pringing, 
He vants to pe der shturdy oak, und also do der glinging. 

Maype, vhen oaks dhey gling some more, und don'd so shturdy 

peen, 
Der glinging vines dhey haf some shance to helb run life's 

masheen. 
In helt und sickness, shoy und pain, in galm or shtormy ved- 

dher, 
'Tvas beddher dot dhose oaks und vines should alvays gling 

togeddher, 



THE PAINTER OF SEVILLE. 



SUSAN WILSON. 



[Sebastian Gomez, better known by the name of the Mulatto of Murillo, was 
one of the most celebrated painters of Spain. There may yet be seen in 
a church of Seville the celebrated picture which he was found painting 
by his master. The incident related occurred about the year 1630.] 

"HPWAS morning in Seville; and brightly beamed 
1 The early sunlight in one chamber there; 

Showing, where'er its glowing radiance gleamed, 
Rich, varied beauty. Twas the study where 

Murillo, the famed painter, came to share 
With young aspirants his long-cherished art, 

To prove how vain must be the teacher's care, 
Who strives his unbought knowledge to impart, 
The language of the soul, the feeling of the heart. 



126 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

The pupils came, and, glancing round, 
Mendez upon his canvas found 
Not his own work of yesterday, 
But, glowing in the morning ray, 
A sketch, so rich, so pure, so bright, 

It almost seemed that there were given 
To glow before his dazzled sight, 

Tints and expression warm from heaven. 

'Twas but a sketch — the Virgin's head — 
Yet was unearthly beauty shed 
Upon the mildly beaming face; 

The lip, the eye, the flowing hair, 
Had separate, yet blended grace — 

A poet's brightest dream was there! 

Murillo entered and, amazed, 

On the mysterious painting gazed; 

"Whose work is this? speak, tell me! He 

Who to his aid such power can call," 
Exclaimed the teacher, eagerly, 

"Will yet be master of us all- 
Would I had done it! Ferdinand! 
Isturitz! Mendez! say, whose hand 
Among ye all ?" With half-breathed sigh, 
Each pupil answered, " 'Twas not I!" 

"How came it, then?" impatiently 
Murillo cried; "but we shall see 
Ere long into this mystery. 
Sebastian!" 

At the summons came 
A bright-eyed slave, 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 127 

Who trembled at the stern rebuke 

His master gave. 
For, ordered in that room to sleep, 
And faithful guard o'er all to keep, 
Murillo bade him now declare 
What rash intruder had been there, 
And threatened — if he did not tell 
The truth at once — the dungeon-cell. 
"Thou answerest not,'' Murillo said. 

(The boy had stood in speechless fear.) 
"Speak on!" At last he raised his head 

And murmured, " No one has been here." 
" 'Tis false'" Sebastian bent his knee, 
And clasped his hands imploringly, 
And said, "I swear it, none but me!" 



" List !" said his master. " I would know 
Who enters here — there have been found 
Before, rough sketches strewn around, 

By whose bold hand 'tis yours to show; 
See that to-night strict watch you keep, 
Nor dare to close your eyes in sleep. 

If on to-morrow morn you fail 
To answer what I ask, 

The lash shall force you — do you hear? 
Hence' to your daily task." 



'Twas midnight in Seville; and faintly shone 
From one small lamp a dim, uncertain ray 

Within Munllo's study — all were gone 

Who there, in pleasant tasks or converse gay, 



12% JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

Passed cheerfully the morning hours away. 

'Twas shadowy gloom, and breathless silence, save, 
That to sad thoughts and torturing fear a prey, 

One bright-eyed boy was there — Murillo's little slave. 

Almost a child — that boy had seen 

Not thrice five summers yet, 
But genius marked the lofty brow, 

O'er which his locks of jet 
Profusely curled;, his cheek's dark hue 
Proclaimed the warm blood flowing through 
Each throbbing vein, a mingled tide, 
To Africa and Spain allied. 

"Alas! what fate is mine!" he said, 

"The lash, if I refuse to tell 
Who sketched those figures — if I do, 

Perhaps e'en more — the dungeon-cell!" 
He breathed a prayer to heaven for aid ; 
It came — for soon in slumber laid, 
He slept, until the dawning day 
Shed on his humble couch its ray, 

"I'll sleep no more!" he cried; "and now 
Three hours of freedom I may gain 

Before my master comes; for then 
I shall be but a slave again. 

Three blessed hours of freedom ! How 

Shall I employ them? — ah' e'en now 

The figure on that canvas traced 

Must be — yes, it must be effaced. " 

He seized a brush — the morning light 
Gave to the head a softened glow; 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 129 

Gazing enraptured on the sight, 

He cried, "Shall I efface it? No' 
That breathing lip! that beaming eye — 
Efface them? I would rather die!" 



The terror of the humble slave 

Gave place to the o'erpowering flow 

Of the high feelings nature gave — 
Which only gifted spirits know. 

He touched the brow, the lip, it seemed 

His pencil had some magic power; 
The eye with deeper feeling beamed — 

Sebastian then forgot the hour ! 
Forgot his master, and the threat 

Of punishment still hanging o'er him; 
For, with each touch, new beauties met 

And mingled in the face before him 

At length 'twas finished; rapturously 
He gazed — could aught more beauteous be! 
Awhile absorbed, entranced he stood. 
Then started — horror chilled his blood! 
His master and the pupils all 

Were there e'en at his side! 
The terror-stricken slave was mute — 

Mercy would be denied 
E'en could he ask it — so he deemed, 
And the poor boy half lifeless seemed. 

Speechless, bewildered — for a space 
They gazed upon that perfect face, 

Each with an artist's joy, 

9 



130 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

At length Murillo silence broke, 
And with affected sternness spoke — 

" Who is your master, boy?" 
"You, Senor " said the trembling slave. 
" Nay, who, I mean, instruction gave. 
Before that Virgin's head you drew?' 
Again he answered, " Only you. 
" I gave you none, ' Murillo cried. 
" But I have heard,' the boy replied, 

' What you to others said " 
" And more than heard," in kinder tone, 
The painter said " 'tis plainly shown 

That you have profited. 

"What [to his pupils] is his meed? 

Reward or punishment?" 
"Reward, reward!" they warmly cried. 

(Sebastian's ear was bent 
To catch the sounds he scarce believed, 
But with imploring Jook received.) 
" What shall it be?" They spoke of gold 

And of a splendid dress; 
But still unmoved Sebastian stood.. 

Silent and motionless. 

"Speak' :> said Murillo, kindly; "choose 

Your own reward — what shall it be? 
Name what you wish. I'll not refuse: 
Then speak at once and fearlessly." 
"Oh' if I dared!"— Sebastian knelt. 
" Courage!" his master said, and each 
Essayed, in kind, half-whispered speech, 
To soothe his overpow'ring dread 
He scarcely heard, till some one said, 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 13 l 

" Sebastian, ask — you have your choice — 

Ask for your freedom!" At the word, 
The suppliant strove to raise his voice: 

At first but stifled sobs were heard, 
And then his prayer — breathed fervently — 
" O master, make my father free!" 
44 Him and thyself, my noble boy!" 

Warmly the painter cried; 
Raising Sebastian from his feet, 

He pressed him to his side. 
44 Thy talents rare, and filial love, 

E'en more have fairly won; 
Still be thou mine by other bonds — 

My pupil and my son." 

Murillo knew, e'en when the words 

Of generous feeling passed his lips, 
Sebastian's talents soon must lead 

To fame that would his own eclipse; 
And, constant to his purpose still, 

He joyed to see his pupil gain, 
Beneath his care, such matchless skill 

As made his name the pride of Spain. 



NUMBER TWENTY-FIVE. 



"AT UMBER twenty-five!" 

1 1 44 Bring on number twenty-five!" 

"The court is waiting for number twenty-five!" 

There was a little hanging back on the part of the usually 

prompt official, but in a moment more a tall, fine-looking 

woman strode defiantly up, and placing herself before the 

judge, awaited the usual questioning. 



*3 2 

There was something so piteously desperate in the prisoner's 
appearance, and her great, haunting eyes had a look of such 
anguish in their fierce depths, that the judge, accustomed to all 
kinds of sad sights and sounds, yet hesitated a moment before 
asking, with unwonted gentleness: 

"What is your name, my woman, and where were you born?" 

" Me name is Aleen Byrne, yer honor, an' I were born in 
Aberdeen, off the Scottish coastland. " 

"And you are charged with striking a man?" 

" I am, yer honor, an' I ken weel I stricht the mon.'' 

"And you meant to?" 

"I did, indeed, yer honor. I only wish I might a kilt him!" 

" That would hardly have been for your good, Aleen. " 

"He's kilt me, yer honor." 

The woman spoke with a low, impassioned wail, which 
caused respectful silence even in the lower court, where touch- 
ing tones were often unheeded. 

" McGinnis testifies that he never laid a hand on you," re- 
turned the judge. 

" He stabbed me to the heart, yer honor, an' the mon kens 
it weel !" 

"Stabbed you? Suppose you tell us about it." 

" I will, an me voice will sarve me. Ye micht no ken what 
it is, yer honor, to have one bonnie laddie, an' none else ye 
ca'd yer ain. I left the gude father o' me lad a-sleepin in the 
kirkyard when I brought me wee sonnie to this land. They 
say this be a countrie flowin' wi* milk an' honey, but oh, yer 
honor, it flows wi* milk an' honey for some, an' for others, I 
mind me, it flows wi' a very sea o' poison. For mony a year 
after I reacht these shores I toiled in sun an* shade, but what 
greeted mesel' for a' the toil so lang as me winsome Robbie 
were thrivin' an' gettin' a muckle o' learnin' fra* his books! 
He growed so fine an' tall that soon he were ta'en to a gentle- 
man's store to help wi* the errants an' to mind the counter 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 133 

betimes. Then the mon McGinnis set his evil eye on the lad. 
I was forced to pass his den on me way to and fra' the bread 
store, an he minded 't was mesel' hated the uncanny look o' 
the place. An' one morn as I passet by he said I needn't be 
so gran' aboot me b'y, he were no above ta'en a sup o' the 
liquor wi' the rest, of an e'en. I begged me chilt for the love 
o' God to let the stoof alane. Me Robbie, knowin' no ill, prom- 
ised to bide by me will an' wishes, but the mon McGinnis 
watcht o' nights when 't were cauld an' stormin, ' an' he gave 
the lad mony a cup o his dretful dhrinks, to warm him, he 
would say. I got upon my knees to me ain childt an' prayed 
him to pass the place no more, but to gang hame by some ither 
road. Then I went mesel' to the mon wi'out a soul in his 
body, an' p'reps ye ken, yer honor, a mither would beg an' 
pray for the bone o' her bone an' the flesh o' her flesh. But 
he laughet in my face, an' I runned from his sicht afore I did 
him ill. Las' nicht, yer honor, the noise at me door frightened 
me; I runned wi' all me micht to see what were the trouble, 
an' me Robbie swayed into the room an' fell at me feet — he 
were dhrunk, yer honor! Then McGinnis pokes his face in at 
me door an' asket, 'What think ye now, Mistress Byrne?' Did I 
mean to strike the mon, yer honor? An' could I, I'd a sthruck 
the breath fra' his body! Ye'd better keep me wi' lock an' key 
the nicht till me gloom dies out; but oh, jedge, jedge! there's 
naught to kill the gnaw in' at me heart, an' wisht mesel' an' 
me lad were in the kirkyard -aside the gude father!" 

The woman at the bar extended a clinched hand as she added 
with bitter vehemence: 

"They telled me, an I could prove the mon sold liquor to 
the bairn under age, the law could stoop him. It's mesel' wud 
like to see the law stoop one o' the mis'rable rumsellers o' the 
land! I tell ye, jedge, there's naught but God's grewsome 
vengeance can stoop his ilk, an' when that falls it'll crush ye 
all! It's a' weel enough to 'rest the mither as she strikes the 



134 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

mon as ruins her ain childt, but wait ye till the Lord Almighty 
strikes — ay — wait ye for that, an ye dare!" 

As the threatening voice stilled, the woman was pronounced 
discharged, and after his reappearance in court, McGinnis was 
lodged in the county jail on a charge of having wilfully sold or 
given intoxicating drink to a minor. His comrades declared 
the evidence on which he was convicted to have been illegally 
slight and uncertain. But the clerk of the court was heard to 
remark that he believed from his soul the judge was afraid to 
disregard that old witch's warning, and dare not wait for the 
Lord Almighty to strike back with grewsome vengeance at 
them all. Then the clerk added thoughtfully: 

" But she did have a knell of fiery doom, did that number 
twenty-five!" 



KATIE LEE AND WILLIE GREY. 



TWO brown heads with tossing curls, 
Red lips shutting over pearls, 
Bare feet, white and wet with dew, 
Two eyes black, and two eyes blue; 
Little girl and boy were they, 
Katie Lee and Willie Grey. 

They were standing where a brook, 
Bending like a shepherd's crook, 
Flashed its silver, and thick ranks 
Of willow fringed its mossy banks; 
Half in thought, and half in play, 
Katie Lee and Willie Grey. 

They had cheeks like cherries red; 
He was taller — 'most a head; 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 135 

She, with arms like wreaths of snow, 
Swung a basket to and fro 
As she loitered, half in play, 
Chattering to Willie Grey. 

" Pretty Katie," Willie said— 
And there came a dash of red 
Through the brownness of his cheek — 
" Boys are strong and girls are weak, 
And I'll carry, so I will, 
Katie's basket up the hill." 

Katie answered with a laugh, 
"You shall carry only half; " 
And then, tossing back her curls, 
''Boys are weak as well as girls." 
Do you think that Katie guessed 
Half the wisdom she expressed ? 

Men are only boys grown tall ; 
Hearts don't change much, after all ; 
And when, long years from that day, 
Katie Lee and Willie Grey 
Stood again beside the brook, 
Bending like a shepherd's crook, 

Is it strange that Willie said, 
While again a dash of red 
Crossed the brownness of his cheek 
" I am strong and you are weak , 
Life is but a slippery steep, 
Hung with shadows cold and deep; 

"Will you trust me, Katie dear? 
Walk beside me without fear' 



136 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

May I carry, if I will, 
All your burdens up the hill?" 
And she answered, with a laugh, 
" No, but you may carry half." 

Close beside the little brook, 
Bending like a shepherd's crook, 
Washing with its silver hands 
Late and early at the sands, 
Is a cottage, where to-day 
Katie lives with Willie Grey. 

In a porch she sits, and lo! 
Swings a basket to and fro — 
Vastly different from the one 
That she swung in years agone, 
This is long and deep and wide, 
And has — rockers at the side. 



SMITING THE ROCK. 



THE stern old judge, in relentless mood, 
Glanced at the two who before him stood; 
She was bowed and haggard and old, 
He was young and defiant and bold, — 
Mother and son; and to gaze at the pair, 
Their different attitudes, look and air, 
One would believe, ere the truth were known, 
The mother convicted and not the son. 

There was the mother; the boy stood nigh 
With a shameless look, and his head held high, 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 137 

Age had come over her, sorrow and care: 
These mattered but little so he was there, 
A prop to her years and a light to her eyes, 
And prized as only a mother can prize, 
But what for him could a mother say, 
Waiting his doom on a sentence day? 

Her husband had died in his shame and sin; 
And she, a widow, her living to win, 
Had toiled and struggled from morn till night, 
Making with want a wearisome fight, 
Bent over her work with resolute zeal, 
Till she felt her old frame totter and reel, 
Her weak limbs tremble, her eyes grow dim; 
But she had her boy, and she toiled for him. 

And he — he stood in the criminal dock, 
With a heart as hard as a flinty rock, 
An impudent glance and a reckless air, 
Braving the scorn of the gazers there ; 
Dipped in crime and encompassed round 
With proof of his guilt by captors found; 
Ready to stand, as he phrased it, "game," 
Holding not crime but penitence, shame. 

Poured in a flood o'er the mother's cheek 

The moistening prayers where the tongue was weak 

And she saw through the mist of those bitter tears 

Only the child in his innocent years; 

She remembered him pure as a child might be, 

The guilt of the present she could not see; 

And for mercy her wistful looks made prayer 

To the stern old judge in his cushioned chair. 



I3 8 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

"Woman," the old judge crabbedly said, 

"Your boy is the neighborhood's plague and dread. 

Of a gang of reprobates chosen chief; 

An idler and rioter, ruffian and thief, 

The jury did right, for the facts were plain; 

Denial is idle, excuses are vain. 

The sentence the court imposes is one " 

"Your honor," she cried, "he's my only son." 

The constables grinned at the words she spoke, 

And a ripple of fun through the court-room broke; 

But over the face of the culprit came 

An angry look and a shadow of shame. 

" Don't laugh at my mother!" loud cried he; 

"You've got me fast, and can deal with me; 

But she's too good for your coward jeers, 

And I'll " then his utterance choked with tears. 

The judge for a moment bent his head, 

And looked at him keenly, and then he said: 

"We suspend the sentence — the boy can go;" 

And the words were tremulous, forced and low, 

" But stay!" and he raised his finger then, 

" Don't let them bring you hither again. 

There is something good in you yet, I know; 

I'll give you a chance — make the most of it — go!'' 

The twain went forth, and the old judge said: 
" I meant to have given him a year instead. 
And perhaps 'tis a difficult thing to tell 
If clemency here be ill or well. 
But a rock was struck in that callous heart, 
From which a fountain of good may start; 
For one on the ocean of crime long tossed, 
Who loves his mother is not quite lost." 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 139 



DOLLY'S PRAYER. 



EMMA BURT. 

**/^OD in heaven, please to hearken to your little Dolly's 

vJ prayer ! 
While the preacher says the preachin', please to tell me where 
you are; 

" For I am so tired waitin' till the big words all are said, 
And 'amen,' and then the music, till the peoples bow their 
head. 

" If I knew the way to Jesus, I would creep so soft along 
That I wouldn't 'sturb the preacher, nor the prayin', nor the 
song. 

"Then I'd run so very swiftly, and I'd give Him a surprise; 
Oh, I'm certain I should know Him when He looked into my 
eyes! 

"He would be so glad to see me that His arms He'd open 

wide, 
And I'd quickly climb within them; there forever I would 

hide. 

"God in heaven, please to hearken to your little Dolly's 

prayer ! 
While the preacher says the preachin', please to show me 

where you are!" 

Tired ones, with hearts impatient, how we echo Dolly's prayer: 
" God in heaven, please to hearken, please to lead us where 
you are!" 



14° JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 



THE DRUNKARD-MAKER. 



u VTOUR father's a drunkard," said pretty May Bell: 

I The scorn of her accents no language can tell, 
As she wound a gold chain round her fingers so fair, 
And shook back the long curls of her beautiful hair. 

And Bess, the drunkard's child, bowed her white face, 
Feeling deeply, so deeply, the shame and disgrace 
As she wiped the bright tears that were falling like rain, 
The haughty girl laughed who had given her pain 

A boy, brave and bright as a boy could be, 

Was untangling his kite in a tall maple tree, 

He could hear every word, he could see every look — ■ 

Poor Bess with her slate and her old tattered book. 

An indignant flush dyed his cheek like a rose, 

As he viewed proud May Bell in her beautiful clothes 

Down from the wide branch, quick as thought something fell 

"Who made him a drunkard? Will you answer, May Bell? 

" Or shall I tell the story? I know it all through; 
John Bell made a drunkard of poor William Drew' 
He sells him the rum that's destroying his life 
And fast making beggars of children and wife!" 

As he led Bessie on, down the mulberry lane. 

May looked after the two through her tears of shame. 

"Oh 1 can it be true, then, the story he told? 

Does my father make drunkards of men for their gold?" 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 141 



DRIFTING. 



T. B. READ. 



M 



Y soul to-day- 
Is far away, 
Sailing the Vesuvian Bay; 
My winged boat, 
A bird afloat, 
Swims round the purple peaks remote. 

Round purple peaks 

It sails, and seeks 
Blue inlets and their crystal creeks, 

Where high rocks throw, 

Through deeps below, 
A duplicated golden glow. 

Far, vague, and dim, 
The mountains swim; 

While on Vesuvius' misty brim, 
With outstretched hands, 
The gray smoke stands 

O'erlooking the volcanic lands. 

Here Ischia smiles 

O'er liquid miles, 
And yonder, bluest of the isles, 

Calm Capri waits, 

Her sapphire gates 
Beguiling to her bright estates. 



I4 2 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

I heed not, if 

My rippling skiff 
Float swift or slow from cliff to cliff; 

With dreamful eyes 

My spirit lies 
Under the walls of Paradise. 

Under the walls, 

Where swells and falls 
The bay's deep breast at intervals, 

At peace I lie, 

Blown softly by, 
A cloud upon this liquid sky. 

The day so mild 

Is heaven's own child, 
With earth and ocean reconciled: 

The airs I feel 

Around me steal 
Are murmuring to the murmuring keel. 

Over the rail 

My hand I trail 
Within the shadow of the sail: 

A joy intense, 

The cooling sense 
Glides down my drowsy indolence. 

With dreamful eyes 

My spirit lies 
Where summer sings and never dies; 

O'erveiled with vines, 

She glows and shines 
Among her future oil and wines. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 143 

Her children, hid 

The cliffs amid, 
Are gambolling with the gambolling kid, 

Or down the walls, 

With tipsy calls, 
Laugh on the rocks like waterfalls. 

The fisher's child, 

With tresses wild, 
Unto the smooth, bright sand beguiled, 

With glowing lips 

Sings as she skips, 
Or gazes at the far-oif ships. 

Yon deep bark goes 

Where traffic blows 
From lands of sun to lands of snows: 

This happier one 

Its course has run 
From lands of snow to lands of sun. 

O happy ship, 

To rise and dip, 
With the blue crystal at your lip! 

O happy crew, 

My heart with you 
Sails, and sails, and sings anew! 

No more, no more 

The worldly shore 
Upbraids me with its loud uproar! 

With dreamful eyes 

My spirit lies 
Under the walls of Paradise! 



144 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

IF ONLY. 



IF only in my dreams I once might see 
Thy face, though thou should stand 
With cold, unreaching hand, 
Nor vex thy lips to break 
The silence with a word for my love's sake, 
Nor turn to mine thine eyes, 
Serene with long peace of Paradise, 
Yet, henceforth, life would be 
More sweet, not wholly bitter, unto me. 

If only I might know for verity, 
That when the light is done 
Of this world's sun, 
And that unknown, long-sealed 
To sound and sight is suddenly revealed, 
That thine should be the first dear voice thereof, 
And thy dear face the rest — O love, my love! 

Then coming death would be 

Sweet, ah, most sweet — not bitter unto me. 



THE SHEPHERD DOG OF THE PYRENEES. 



ELLEN MURRAY. 



TRAVELLER. Begone, you, sir! Here, shepherd, call your 
dog! 
Shepherd. Be not affrighted, madame, poor Pierrot 
Will do no harm I know his voice is gruff, 
But, then, his heart is good 

Trav. Well, call him, then. 

I do not like his looks. He's growling now. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 145 

Shep. Madame had better drop that stick. Pierrot, 
He is as good a Christian as myself 
And does not like a stick, 

Trav. Such a fierce look ! 

And such great teeth! 

Shep. Ah, bless poor Pierrot s teeth! 

Good cause have I and mine to bless those teeth 
Come here, my Pierrot! Would you like to hear, 
Madame, what Pierrot's teeth have done for me? 

Trav. Torn a gaunt wolf, I'll warrant. 

Shep. Do you see 

On that high ledge a cross of wood that stands 
Against the sky? 

Trav. Just where the cliff goes down 

A hundred fathoms sheer, a wall of rock 
To where the river foams along its bed? 
I've often wondered who was brave to plant 
A cross on such an edge. 

Shep. Myself, madame. 

That the good God might know I gave Him thanks. 
One night, it was November, dark and thick 
The fog came down, when, as I reached my house, 
Marie came running out; our little one, 
Our four-year Louis, so she cried, was lost. 
I called Pierrot, " Go seek him, find my boy!" f 
And off he went. Marie ran crying loud 
To call the neighbors. They and I, we searched 
All that dark night. I called Pierrot in vain; 
Whistled and called, and listened for his voice; 
He always came or barked at my first word, 
But now he answered not. When day at last 
Broke, and the gray fog lifted, there I saw 
On that high ledge against the dawning light 
My little one asleep, sitting so near 
10 



146 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

That edge that, as I looked, his red barette 
Fell from his nodding head down the abyss 
And there, behind him, crouched Pierrot; his teeth, 
His good, strong teeth, clinched in the jacket brown, 
Holding the child in safety. With wild bounds 
Swift as the gray wolf's own I climbed the steep, 
And as I reached them Pierrot beat his tail 
And looked at me, so utterly distressed, 
With eyes that said, "Forgive, I could not speak, 1 ' 
But never loosed his hold, till my dear rogue 
Was safe within my arms. — Ah, ha! Pierrot, 
Madame forgives your barking and your teeth; 

I knew she would. 
Trav. Come here, Pierrot, good dog! 
Come here, poor fellow, faithful friend and true, 
Come, come, be friends with me! 



THE MESSAGE. 



ADELAIDE A. PROCTER. 



I HAD a message to send her, to her whom my soul loves 
best. 
But I had my task to finish, and she had gone to rest, 
To rest in the far, bright heaven — oh! so far away from here! 
It was vain to speak to my darling, for I knew she could not 
hear. 

I had a message to send her, so tender, and true, and sweet, 
I longed for an angel to bear it, and lay it down at her feet. 
I placed it, one summer's evening, on a little white clouds 

breast . 
But it faded in golden splendor, and died in the crimson west. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 147 

I gave it the lark next morning, and I watched it soar and 

soar ; 
But its pinions grew faint and weary, and it fluttered to earth 

once more. 
I cried, in my passionate longing: "Has the earth no angel 

friend 
Who will carry my love the message my heart desires to send?' 

Then I heard a strain of music, so mighty, so pure, so dear, 
That my very sorrow was silent, and my heart stood still to 

hear. 
It rose in harmonious rushing of mingled voices and strings, 
And I tenderly laid my message on music's outspread wings 

And I heard it float farther and farther, in sound more perfect 

than speech, 
Farther than sight can follow, farther than soul can reach. 
And I know that at last my message has passed through the 

golden gate; 
So my heart is no longer restless, and I am content to wait. 



NEVER TROUBLE TROUBLE. 



FANNIE WINDSOR. 



MY good man is a clever man, which no one will gainsay; 
He lies awake to plot and plan 'gainst lions in the way, 
While I, without a thought of ill, sleep sound enough for three, 
For I never trouble trouble till trouble troubles me. 

A holiday we never fix but he is sure 'twill rain; 
And when the sky is clear at six he knows it won't remain 
He is always prophesying ill to which I won't agree, 
For I never trouble trouble till trouble troubles me. 



148 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

The wheat will never show a top — but soon how green the 

field! 
We will not harvest half a crop — yet have a famous yield! 
It will not sell, it never will! but I will wait and see; 
For I never trouble trouble till trouble troubles me. 

We have a good share of worldly gear, and fortune seems 

secure, 
Yet my good man is full of fear — misfortune's coming sure! 
He points me out the almshouse hill, but cannot make me see, 
For I never trouble trouble till trouble troubles me. 

He has a sort of second sight, and when the fit is strong, 
He sees beyond the good and right the evil and the wrong. 
Heaven's cup of joy he'll surely spill unless I with him be, 
For I never trouble trouble till trouble troubles me! 



SELF-CULTURE. 



MAKE the best of yourself. Watch and plant and sow. 
Cultivate! Cultivate! Falter not, faint not! Press 
onward! Persevere! Perhaps you cannot bear' such lordly 
fruit, nor yet such rare, rich flowers as others; but what of 
that? Bear the best you can. 'Tis all God asks. 

Your flowers may only be the daisies and buttercups of life 
— the little words and smiles and handshakes and helpful 
looks; but we love these flowers full well. We may stop to 
look at a tulip's gorgeous colors, and admire the creamy white- 
ness of a noble lily; but it is to the little flowers we turn with 
tenderest thought. We watch for snowdrops with longing 
eyes, and scern: the fragrance of the violet with a keen delight. 
So let your life grow sweet-scented with all pleasant thoughts 
and gentle words and kindly deeds. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 149 



HERE OR THERE. 



HENRY BURTON. 



MAY God be near thee, friend, 
When we are far away ; 
May His smile cheer thee, friend, 

And make all light as day: 
Look up! the sky, the stars above 
Will whisper to thee of His changeless love. 



In distant, desert places 

The " Mounts of God" are found; 
His sky the world embraces, 

And makes it "holy ground." 
The heart that serves, and loves, and clings, 
Hears everywhere the rush of angel wings. 

To God the "there" is here; 

All spaces are His own; 
The distant and the near 

Are shadows of His throne. 
All times are His, the new, the old — 
What boots it where life's little tale is told? 

'Tis not for us to choose; 

We listen and obey: 
'Tis His to call and use; 

? Tis ours to serve and pray. 
It matters little, here or there, 
God's world is wide, and heaven is everywhere. 



150 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

We cannot go so far 

That home is out of sight; 
The morn, the evening star, 

Will say, "Good-day!" "Good-night!" 
The heart that loves will never be alone; 
All earth, all heaven, it reckons as its own! 



THEN AG'IN- 



S. W. FOSS. 



JIM BOWKER, he said, ef he'd had a fair show, 
And a big enough town for his talents to grow, 
And the least bit of assistance in hoein' his row, 

Jim Bowker, he said, 
He'd fill the world full of the sound of his name, 
An' climb the top round in the ladder of fame. 
It may have been so; 

I dunno; 
Jest so it might been; 
Then ag'in — . 

But he had tarnal luck; everythin' went ag'in him, 

The arrears of fortune they alius 'ud pin him; 

So he didn't get a chance to show what was in him. 

Jim Bowker, he said, 
Ef he'd had a fair show, you couldn't tell where he'd come, 
An' the feats he'd a-done, an' the heights he'd a-clumb. 

It may have been so; 
I dunno; 

Jest so it might been; 
Then ag'in — . 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 151 

But we're all like Jim Bowker, thinks I, more or less, 
Charge fate for our bad luck, ourselves for success, 
An' give fortune the blame for all our distress, 

As Jim Bowker, he said, 
Ef it hadn't been for luck an' misfortune an' sich, 
We might a-been famous, and might a-been rich. 

It might be jest so; 
I dunno; 

Jest so it might been ■ 
Then ag'in — . 



REGRETS OF DRUNKENNESS. 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 

[Cassio, having been artfully plied with liquor by Iago till he was drunk, en» 

. gaged in a brawl, after which he was dismissed by his general, Othello, 

with the words: "Cassio, I love thee; but never more be officer of mine." 

Iago, wishing to make Othello jealous of Cassio, here persuades him 

to appeal to Desdemona, Othello's wife, to intercede for him.] 

J AGO. What! be you hurt, Lieutenant? 
Cassio. Past all surgery! 

Iago. Marry, heaven forbid! 

Cas. Reputation! reputation! reputation! Oh, I have lost 
my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself; and 
what remains is bestial. My reputation, Iago, my reputation! 

Iago. As I am an honest man, I thought you had received 
some bodily wound; there is more offence in that than in repu- 
tation. Reputation is an idle and most false imposition; oft 
got without merit, and lost without deserving. You have lost 
no reputation at all, unless you repute yourself such a loser. 
What, man! there are ways to recover the General again. You 



152 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

are but now cast in his mood, a punishment more in policy than 
in malice; sue to him again, and he's yours. 

Cas. I will rather sue to be despised than to deceive so good 
a commander with so light, so drunken, and so indiscreet an 
officer. Drunk, and speak parrot, and squabble, swagger, 
swear, and discourse fustian with one's own shadow? Oh, 
thou invisible spirit of wine! if thou hadst no name to be 
known by, let us call thee — devil! 

Iago. What was he that you followed with your sword? 
What had he done to you ? 

Cas. I know not. 

Iago. Is it possible? 

Cas. I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly; a 
quarrel, but nothing wherefore. Oh, that men should put an 
enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! That we 
should, with joy, revel, pleasure, and applause, transform our- 
selves into beasts! 

Iago. Why, but you are now well enough. How came you 
thus recovered ? 

Cas. It has pleased the devil Drunkenness to give place to the 
devil Wrath; one imperfection shows me another, to make me 
frankly despise myself. 

Iago. Come, you are too severe a moraler! As the time, the 
place, and the condition of this country stands, I could heartily 
wish this had not befallen; but since it is as it is, mend it for 
your own good. 

Cas. I will ask him for my place again; he shall tell me I 
am a drunkard! Had I as many mouths as Hydra, such an 
answer would stop them all. To be now a sensible man, by 
and by a fool, and presently a beast! Oh, strange! Every 
inordinate cup is unblessed, and the ingredient is a devil. 

Iago. Come, come! good wine is a good familiar creature, 
if it be well used; exclaim no more against it; and, good 
Lieutenant, I think you think I love you? 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 153 

Cas. I have well approved it, sir. I drunk' 

Iago. You, or any man living, may be drunk some time, 
man' I'll tell you what you shall do. Our General's wife is 
now the General — I may say so in this respect, for that he hath 
devoted and given up himself to the contemplation, mark, and 
denotement of her parts and graces. Confess yourself freely 
to her; importune her; she'll help to put you in your place 
again. She is of so free, so kind, so apt, so blessed a disposi- 
tion, that she holds it a vice in her goodness not to do more 
than she is requested. This broken joint between you and her 
husband, entreat her to splinter; and, my fortunes against any 
lay worth naming, this break of your love shall grow stronger 
than it was before. 

Cas. You advise me well. 

Iago. I protest, in the sincerity of love and honest kindness. 

Cas. I think it freely; and, betimes in the morning, I will 
beseech the virtuous Desdemona to undertake for me. I am 
desperate of my fortunes if they check me here. 

Iago. You are in the right. Good-night, Lieutenant! I 
must to watch. 

Cas. Good-night, honest Iago! 



DUTY. 



REV. ALFRED J. HOUGH. 



SPEAK the word God bids thee! No other word can reach 
The chords that wait in silence the coming of thy speech. 

Do the work God bids thee! One — only one still loom 
Awaits thy touch and tending in all this lower room. 

Sing the song God bids thee ! The heart of earth's great throng 
Needs for its perfect solace the music of thy song. 



154 JT'LIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 



IF THERE BE GLORY. 



MAXWELL GREY. 



IF there be glory in the sun, 
If splendor on the sea, 
Sweet music in all rills that run, 
Great God, it is of Thee. 

Thy splendor broods on icy peaks 

The torrent's thunder fills; 
It is Thy majesty that speaks 

Among the lonely hills. 

The sweetest spring-flower ever blushed 

On brightest morn of May, 
The richest bird-song ever gushed 

At rosiest shut of day ; 

The maiden moon that strayeth lone 

And pensive through the sky, 
Unloosing from her silver zone 

Her largesse silently; 

The solemn majesty of night, 

Its stillness and its stars, 
The glory when, in growing light, 

The crimson day unbars — 

All could not charm, except some thought 

From Thee within them stirred; 
They touch man's soul, for Thou hast wrought 

Their beauty by Thy word. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. X$5 

If there be glory in the sun, 

If splendor on the sea, 
Sweet music in all rills that run, 

Great God, it is of Thee. 

God thought: worlds rolled in sudden space; 

He spake, and life was there; 
The universe in His embrace 

Reposes and is fair. 



LIFE. 



ANNIE THOMAS. 



NOT by the years we live, 
But by the good we do to those around, 
Should life computed be. 
Not by the wealth attained 
Should we possession count, but by that given 
To aid humanity — . 
The weaker portion — brothers all — 
Oft tempted and oft yielding through 
Their kindly hearts to wrong. 
These to lead back once more 
With firm but gentle hand — by loving word 
And voice — taught to be strong. 
To clear the way they tread 
Of sin, temptation, and to aid them to 
The higher life attain — - ' 

No nobler mission nor 

More honored work hath man in life than this, 
And no more worthy aim. 



56 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 



O'CONNOR'S CHILD 



THOMAS CAxMPBELL. 



« 



A HERO's bride! this desert bower, 
It ill befits thy gentle breeding 
And wherefore dost thou love this flower 

To call, 'My love lies bleeding?' ,! 
This purple flower my tears have nursed'; 

A hero's blood supplied its bloom 
I love it, for it was the first 

That grew on Connocht Moran's tomb. 
Oh! hearken, stranger, to my voice! 
This desert mansion is my choice! 
And blest, though fatal, be the star 
That led me to its wilds afar. 
For here these pathless mountains free 
Gave shelter to my love and me ; 
And every rock and every stone 
Bore witness that he was my own. 
O'Connor's child, I was the bud 

Of Erin's royal tree of glory; 
But woe to them that wrapt in blood 

The tissue of my story! 
Still as I clasp my burning brain, 

A death-scene rushes on my sight ; 
It rises o'er and o'er again, 

The bloody feud — the fatal night, 
When, chafing Connocht Moran's scorn, 
They called my hero basely born; 
And bade him choose a meaner bride 
Than from O'Connor's house of pride. 



FA V0R1 IE SELF C J IONS 1 5 7 

Glory (they said) and power and honor 
Were in the mansion of O Connor; 
But he r my loved one, bore in field 
A humbler crest, a meaner shield. 

Ah, brothers? what did it avail, 

That fiercely and triumphantly 
Ye fought the English of the Pale. 

And stemmed De Bourgo s chivalry? 
And what was it to love and me, 

That barons by your standard rode; 
Or beal -fires for your jubilee 

Upon a hundred mountains glowed? 
What though the lords of tower and dome 
From Shannon to the North Sea foam — 
Thought ye your iron hands of pride 
Could break the knot that love had tied ? 
No. Let the eagle change his plume, 
The leaf its hue, the flower its bloom; 
But ties around this heart were spun, 
That could not, would not be undone! 

At bleating of the wild watch-fold 

Thus sang my love; " Oh, come with me! 
Our bark is on the lake, behold 

Our steeds are fastened to the tree. 
Come far from Castle Connor s clans; 

Come with thy belted forestere, 
And I, beside the lake of swans, 

Shall hunt for thee the fallow-deer; 
And build thy hut, and bring thee home 
The wild-fowl and the honey-comb; 
And berries from the wood provide, 
And play my clarshech by thy side. 



I5 8 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS* 

Then come, my love!" How could I stay? 
Our nimble stag-hounds tracked the way, 
And 1 pursued, by moonless skies, 
The light of Connocht Moran's eyes. 

And fast and far, before the star 

Of day-spring, rushed we through the glade, 
And saw at dawn the lofty bawn 

Of Castle Connor fade 
Sweet was to us the hermitage 

Of this unploughed, untrodden shore; 
Like birds all joyous from the cage, 

For man's neglect we loved it more, 
And well he knew, my huntsman dear, 
To search the game with hawk and spear; 
"While I, his evening food to dress, 
Would sing to him in happiness. 
But, oh, that midnight of despair, 
When I was doomed to rend my hair! 
The night, to me, of shrieking sorrow! 
The night, to him, that had no morrow! 

When all was hushed at eventide, 

I heard the baying of their beagle: 
" Be hushed!" my Connocht Moran cried, 

""' 'Tis but the screaming of the eagle," 
Alas' 'twas not the eyry's sound; 

Their bloody bands had tracked us out; 
Up-listening starts our couchant hound — 

And, hark! again, that nearer shout 
Brings faster on the murderers. 
" Spare — spare him — Brazil — Desmond fierce!"" 
In vain — no voice the adder charms; 
Their weapons crossed my sheltering arms- 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 159 

Another's sword has laid him low — 

Another's and another's; 
And every hand that dealt the blow — 

Ah. me! it was a brother's! 
Yes, when his moanings died away, 
Their iron hands had dug the clay, 
And o'er his burial turf they trod, 
And I beheld— O God! O God!— 
His life-blood oozing from the sod. 

Warm in his death-wounds sepulchered, 

Alas! my warrior's spirit brave 
Nor mass nor ulla-lulla heard, 

Lamenting, soothe his grave. 
Dragged to their hated mansion back, 

How long in thraldom's grasp I lay 
I know not, for my soul was black, 

And knew no change of night or day. 

But heaven, at last, my soul's eclipse 

Did with a vision bright inspire; 
I woke and felt upon my lips 

A prophetess' fire. 
Thrice in the east a war-drum beat, 

I heard the Saxon's trumpet sound, 
And ranged, as to the judgment-seat, 

My guilty, trembling brothers round. 
Clad in the helm and shield they came; 
For now De Bourgo's sword and flame 
Had ravaged Ulster's boundaries, 
And lighted up the midnight skies* 
The standard of O'Connor's sway 
Was in the turret where I lay; 



160 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

That standard, with so dire a look, 
As ghastly shone the moon and pale, 

I gave — that every bosom shook 
Beneath its iron mail. 



" And go!" (I cried) "the combat seek, 

Ye hearts that unappalled bore 
The anguish of a sister's shriek, 

Go! and return no more! 
For sooner guilt the ordeal brand 

Shall grasp unhurt, than ye shall hold 
The banner with victorious hand, 

Beneath a sister's curse unrolled." 

stranger! by my country's loss! 
And by my love! and by the cross! 

1 swear I never could have spoke 
The curse that severed nature's yoke, 
But that a spirit o'er me stood, 

And fired me with the wrathful mood; 
And frenzy to my heart was given, 
To speak the malison of heaven. 

They would have crossed themselves all mute; 

They would have prayed to burst the spell; 
But at the stamping of my foot 

Each hand down powerless fell! 
" And go to Athunree!" (I cried) 
" High lift the banner of your pride! 
But know that where its sheet unrolls 
The weight of blood is on your souls! 
Go where the havoc of your kerne 
Shall float as high as mountain fern! 
Men shall no more your mansion know; 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 161 

The nettles on your hearth shall grow! 
Dead, as the green oblivious flood 

That mantles by your walls, shall be 
The glory of O'Connor's blood! 

Away! away to Athunree! 
Where, downward, when the sun shall fall, 
The raven's wing shall be your pall! 
And not a vassal shall unlace 
The visor from your dying face!" 

A. bolt that overhung our dome 

Suspended till my curse was given, 
Soon as it passed these lips of foam, 

Pealed in the blood-red heaven. 
Dire was the look that o'er their backs 

The angry parting brothers threw: 
But now, behold! like cataracts, 

Come down the hills in view 
O'Connor's plumed partisans; 
Thrice ten Kilnagorvian clans 

Were marching to their doom. 
A sudden storm their plumage tossed, 
A flash of lightning o'er them crossed, 

And all again was gloom! 

Stranger! I fled the home of grief, 

At Connocht Moran's tomb to fall; 
I found the helmet of my chief, 

His bow still hanging on our wall, 
And took it down, and vowed to rove 

This desert pla*ce a huntress bold ; 
Nor would I change my buried love 

For any heart of living mold. 

ii 



1 62 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMA 

No! for I am a hero's child; 

I'll hunt my quarry in the wild; 

And still my home this mansion make, 

Of all unheeded and unheeding, 
And cherish for my warrior's sake — 

"The flower of love lies bleeding." 



BE STILL. 



REV. DWIGHT WILLIAMS. 



^T)E still, and know that I am God;" 
JL) The way is dark and wild 

Through which thou goest, my child; 
I cannot promise thee a stormless path, 

For lightning's scath 
And thunder's roar the pilgrim's journey hath. 

"Be still, and know that I am God;" 

The elements are mine; 

It is a hand divine 
That guides the whirlwind in its awful course; 

The mystic force 
Of hail and tempest' finds in me its source. 

"Be still, and know that I am God;" 

In danger's hour be calm; 

This is thy secret balm, 
To know that thou art safe when T command ; 

Then only stand 
And see deliverance by my mighty hand. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 163 

"Be still, and know that I am God;" 

Ask not the reason why 

I weave such mystery 
Through all the warp of thy frail life below ; 

For thou shalt know, 
And read the plan in heaven's serener glow. 

"Be still, and know that I am God;" 

Through storms and fears be still ; 

Only thy part fulfil, 
And as thou walkest I will shelter thee; 

Thy foes shall flee, 
And thou shalt journey all the way with me. 

"Be still, and know that I am God;" 

'Twill be enough at last, 

When all thy warfare's past, 
Star-crowned thy head and in thy hand a palm, 

To sing thy psalm 
Where storms of earth end in eternal calm. 



GOLDEN-ROD. 



IN olden days the sunlight stept down to the earth below, 
Across the fields and hedges crept all noiselessly and slow: 
And where it passed the shadows fled swift speeding far away, 
As from the gateway overhead came down the light of day. 

But as along a lane it passed, it weary was and slept, 
And slumber's fetters held it fast while night her vigil kept; 
And when the morning's couriers came in velvet buskins shod, 
Where last was seen the sunlight's flame were shafts of golden- 
rod. 



1 64 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

ONE OF MANY. 



ALICE GARY. 



BECAUSE I have not done the things I know 
I ought to do, my very soul is sad; 
And, furthermore, because that I have had 
Delights that should have made to overflow 
My cup of gladness, and have not been glad. 

All in the midst of plenty, poor I live; 

My house, my friend, with heavy heart I see 
As if that mine they were not meant to be; 

For of the sweetness of the things I have 
A churlish conscience dispossesses me. 

I do desire, nay, long, to put my powers 
To better service than I yet have done — 
Not hither, thither, without purpose run, 

And gather just a handful of the flowers 
And catch a little sunlight of the sun; 

Lamenting all the night and all the day 
Occasion lost, and losing in lament 
The golden chances that I know were meant 

For wiser uses — asking overpay 

When nothing has been earned, and all was lent; 

Keeping in dim and desolated ways 

And where the wild winds whistle loud and shrill 
Through leafless bushes, and the birds are still, 

And where the lights are lights ot other days — 
A sad insanity overmastering will 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 165 

And saddest of the sadness is to know 
It is not fortune's fault, but only mine, 
That far away the hills of roses shine, 

And far away the pipes of pleasure blow, 
That we, and not our stars, our fates assign. 



HERVE RIEL. 



ROBERT BROWNING. 



ON the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two, 
Did the English fight the French — woe to France! 
And, the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through the blue, 
Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue 
Came crowding ship on ship to St. Malo on the Ranee, 
With the English fleet in view. 

'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase, 
First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damfreville; 
Close on him fled, great and small, twenty-two good ships in all ; 
And they signalled to the place, " Help the winners of a race! 
Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick — or, quicker 
still, 

Here's the English can and will!" 

Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leaped on board; 
"Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass?" 

laughed they; 
" Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred and 

scored, 
Shall the 'Formidable' here, with her twelve and eighty guns, 

Think to .make the river-mouth by the single narrow way, 
Trust to enter where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons, 



1 66 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

And with flow at full besides (now 'tis slackest ebb of tide) 
Reach the mooring? Rather say, while rock stands or water 
runs, 

Not a ship will leave the bay!" 

Then was called a council straight; brief and bitter the debate: 
"Here's the English at our heels; would you have them take 

in tow 
All that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow, 
For a prize to Plymouth Sound ? Better run the ships aground !" 

(Ended Damfreville his speech.) 
" Not a minute more to wait! let the captains all and each 
Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach! 
France must undergo her fate. 

" Give the' word!" But no such word was ever spoke or heard; 

For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these — 
A captain? A lieutenant? A mate — first, second, third? 
No such man of mark, and meet with his betters to compete! 
But a simple Breton sailor pressed by Tourville for the fleet — 

A poor coasting pilot he, Herve Riel the Croisickese. 

And "What mockery or malice have we here?" cries Herve 
Riel 
" Are you mad, you Malouins? Are you cowards, fools, or 
rogues ? 

Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the soundings, 
tell 

On my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell 

'Twixt the offing here and Greve, where the river disem- 
bogues? 

Are you bought by English gold? Is it love the lying's for? 

Morn and eve, night and day, have I piloted your bay, 

Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 167 

"Burn the fleet, and ruin France? That were worse than fifty 

Hogues^ 
Sirs, they know I speak the truth! Sirs, believe me there's a 
way ! 
Only let me lead the line, 
Have the biggest ship to steer, get this 'Formidable' clear, 

Make the others follow mine, 
And I lead them, most and least, by a passage I know well, 
Right to Solidor, past Greve, and there lay them safe and 

sound ; 
And if one ship misbehave — keel so much as grate the ground — 
Why, I've nothing but my life: here's my head!" cries Herve 
Riel. 



Not a minute more to wait. " Steer us in, then, small and great! 

Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron!" cried its 
chief. 

"Captains, give the sailor place! he is admiral, in brief." 

Still the north wind, by God's grace! see the noble fellow's 
face 

As the big ship, with a bound, clears the entry like a hound, 

Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide seas pro- 
found! 

See, safe through shoal and rock, how they follow in a flock! 

Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground, 
Not a spar that comes to grief! 

The peril, see, is past, all are harbored to the last, 

And just as Herve Riel hollos "Anchor!" — sure as fate, 
Up the English come, too late. 

So the storm subsides to calm: 
They see the green trees wave on the heights o'erlooking Greve . 
Hearts that bled are stanched with balm 



1 68 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

" Just our rapture to enhance, let the English rake the bay, 
Gnash their teeth and glare askance, as they cannonade away! 
'Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Ranee!" 
Now hope succeeds despair on each captain's countenance! 
Outburst all with one accord, "This is paradise for hell! 

Let France, let France's king 

Thank the man that did the thing!" 
What a shout, and all one word, " Herve Riel," 

As he stepped in front once more, 
Not a symptom of surprise in the frank blue Breton eyes, 
Just the same man as before. 



Then said Damfreville, " My friend, I must speak out at the 
end, 
Though I find the speaking hard: 

Praise is deeper than the lips; you have saved the King his 
ships, 
You must name your own reward. 

'Faith, our sun was near eclipse! 

Demand whate'er you will, France remains your debtor still. 

Ask to heart's content, and have! or my name's not Damfre- 
ville." 



Then a beam of fun outbroke on the bearded mouth that spoke, 
As the honest heart laughed through those frank eyes of Breton 

blue: 
"Since I needs must say my say, since on board the duty's 

done, 
And from Malo Roads to Croisic Point, what is it but a run? — 
Since 'tis ask and have, I may — since the others go ashore — 

Come! A good whole holiday' 
Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore!" 
That he asked, and that he got — nothing more. 



FAVOR 17 E SELECTIONS 169 

Name and deed alike are lost not a pillar nor a post 
In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell ; 

Not a head in white and black on a single fishing- smack 

in memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrack 
All that France saved from the fight whence England bore the 

bell. 
Go to Paris; rank on rank 

Search the heroes flung pell-mell 
On the Louvre, face and flank ; 

You shall look long enough ere you come to Herve Riel. 
So, for better and for worse, Herve Riel, accept my verse! 
In my verse, Herve Riel, do thou once more 
Save the squadron, honor France, love thy wife, the Belle 
Aurore ! 



TWO TOWNS, 



BROTHER! you with growl and frown, 
Why don't you move from Grumbletown, 
Where everything is tumbled down 

And life is always dreary? 
Move over into Gladville, where 
Your face will don a happy air 
And lay aside the look of care 
For smiles all bright and cheery 

In Grumbletown there's not a joy 
But has a shadow of alloy 
That wili its happiness destroy 
And make you to regret it. 



7° JULIA A AW ANNIE THOMAS' 

In Gladville they have not a care 
But what it looks inviting there. 
And has about it something fair 
That makes them pleased to get it. 

'Tis strange how different these towns 

Of ours are Good cheer abounds 

In one. and grewsome growls and frowns 

Are always in the other 
If you your skies of ashen gray 
Would change for sunny smiles of May, 
From Grumbletown oh haste away. 

Move into Gladville brother: 



THE LEAK IN THE DIKE. 

PHOZBE CARY 

THE good dame looked from her cottage 
At the close of the pleasant day, 
And cheerily called to her little son 

Outside the door at play 
" Come. Peter, come' I want you to go 

While there is light to see, 
To the hut of the blind old man who lives 

Across the dike, for me 
And take these cakes I made for him — 

They are hot and smoking yet, 
You have time enough to go and come 

Before the sun is set/'' 
And Peter left the brother, 

With whom all day he had played 
And the sister who had watched their sports 

In the willow's tender shade; 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 17 

And told them they'd see him back before 

They saw a star in sight. 
Though he wouldn't be afraid to go 

In the very darkest night. 
For he was a brave, bright fellow, 

With eye and conscience clear 
He could do whatever a boy might do. 

And he had not learned to fear. 
And now with his face all glowing, 

And eyes as bright as the day, 
With the thoughts of his pleasant errand, 

He trudged along the way, 
And soon his joyous prattle 

Made glad a lonesome place — 
Alas! if only the blind old man 

Could have seen that happy face! 
Yet he somehow caught the brightness 

Which his voice and presence lent, 
And he felt the sunshine come and go 

As Peter came and went. 
And now, as the day was sinking, 

And the winds began to rise, 
The mother looked from her door again, 

Shading her anxious eyes, 
And saw the shadows deepen 

And birds to their home come back, 
But never a sign of Peter 

Along the level track. 
But she said: " He will come at morning, 

So I need not fret or grieve — 
Though it isn't like my boy at all 

To stay without my leave." 
But where was the child delaying? 

On the homeward way was he; 



172 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

And across the dike while the sun was up 

An hour above the sea, 
He was stopping now to gather flowers. 

Now listening to the sound, 
As the angry waters dashed themselves 

Against their narrow bound 
"Ah! well for us," said Peter, 

" That the gates are good and strong, 
And my father tends them carefully, 

Or they would not hold you long' 
You're a wicked sea," said Peter, 

" 1 know why you fret and chafe; 
You would like to spoil our lands and homes, 

But our sluices keep you safe. " 
But hark ! through the noise of waters 

Comes a low, clear, trickling sound, 
And the child's face pales with terror. 

And the blossoms drop to the ground. 
He is up the bank in a moment, 

And, stealing through the sand, 
He sees a stream not yet so large 

As his slender, childish hand. 
Tis a leak in the dike!- He is but a boy, 

Unused to fearful scenes, 
But, young as he is, he has learned to know 

The dreadful thing that means. 
A leak in the dike' The stoutest heart 

Grows faint that cry to hear, 
And the bravest man in all the land 

Turns white with mortal fear. 
For he knows the smallest leak may grow 

To a flood in a single night; 
And he knows the strength of the cruel sea 

When loosed in its angry might. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 173 

And the boy ! he has seen the danger 

And, shouting a wild alarm, 
He forces back the weight of the sea 

With the strength of his single arm! 
He listens for the joyful sound 

Of a footstep passing nigh, 
And lays his ear to the ground, to catch 

The answer to his cry. 
And he hears the rough winds blowing, 

And the waters rise and fall, 
But never an answer comes to him 

Save the echo of his call. 
So, faintly calling and crying 

Till the sun is under the sea, 
Crying and moaning till the stars 

Come out for company, 
He thinks of his brother and sister, 

Asleep in their safe warm bed; 
He thinks of his father and mother, 

Of himself as dying — and dead. 
And of how, when the night is over, 

They must come and find him at last; 
But he never thinks he can leave the place 

Where duty holds him fast. 
The good dame in the cottage 

Is up and astir with the light, 
For the thought of her little Peter 

Has been with her all the night. 
And now she watches the pathway, 

As yesterday eve she had done ; 
But what does she see so strange and black 

Against the rising sun? 
Her neighbors are bearing between them 

Something straight to her door. 



174 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

Her child is coming home, but not 

As he ever came before! 
"He is dead," she cries, "my darling!" 

And the startled father hears, 
And comes and looks the way she looks, 

And fears the thing she fears; 
Till a glad shout from the bearers 

Thrills the stricken man and wife — 
" Give thanks, for your son has saved our land, 

And God has saved his life!" 
So there in the morning sunshine 

They knelt about the boy; 
And every head was bared and bent 

In tearful, reverent joy. 



THE PAST AND THE FUTURE. 



LUTHER R. MARSH. 



1 WOULD not backward roll the tide of time, 
Though freighted, rich, with golden memories, 
With large experience,- and with hosts of friends. 
The past is past, and cannot come again, 
Sweet as it was, and laden with all joys — 
Each day a pleasure and each morn a hope, — 
Yet it is fruitless to recount those scenes. 
The wise men of the past, each in his way, 
Gave out the wisdom fitted for his time. 
But we have sailed away, far out of sight 
Of all their maxims and their sage conundrums. 
The Rising Sun we need, to flood his light 
Upon our pathway through the vast unknown. 
Why pore we o'er the history of time gone, 
When our work lies in time that is to come? 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 175 

Buckle we on for the advancing years; 
Not ruminate on deeds by others done. 
Nor would I summon from their buried crypts 
To reappear, as in the olden time, 
The forms and features of beloved friends; 
But, rather, think of them in heavenly homes, 
Girt with new lustre of ethereal guise. 
Turn would I, rather, to the time ahead ; 
For, folded there, are possibilities of fate. 
Forward, not backward, will my eye be turned, 
Leaving behind the joys of reminiscence, 
To glimpse the greater joys of bright anticipation. 
The past is dead and has no resurrection: 
The future glows with promises of God. 
I will not pause to mourn the days ill-spent, 
The duty oft undone, the evil done, 
' But coming time salute, with stern resolve, 
To entertain no word, or deed, or thought, 
Which angels would not welcome. 
Hail, glorious Future, whose unending days 
Shall fill the calends of eternity! 
And thou, O Past! thy deeds I relegate 
Into the Lethe of forgotten years; 
Save that Bright Presence from the throne on high, 
The way, the truth, the life, the mystery. 



SELF-DEPENDENCE. 



MATTHEW ARNOLD. 



WEARY of myself, and sick of asking 
What I am, and what I ought to be, 
At this vessel's prow I stand, which bears me 
Forward, forward, o'er the starlit sea. 



76 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

And a look of passionate desire 

O'er the sea and to the stars I send: 

" Ye who from my childhood up have calmed me, 
Calm me, ah, compose me to the end! 

"Ah, once more," I cried, "ye stars, ye waters, 
On my heart your mighty charm renew ; 

Still, still let me, as I gaze upon you, 
Feel my soul becoming vast like you!" 

From the intense, clear star-sown vault of heaven, 

Over the lit sea's unquiet way, 
In the rustling night air came the answer: 

" Wouldst thou be as these are ? Live as they. 

" Unaffrighted by the silence round them, 
Undistracted by the sights they see, 

These demand not that the things without them 
Yield them love, amusement, sympathy. 

" And with joy the stars perform their shining, 
And the sea its long moon-silvered roll; 

For self-poised they live, nor pine with noting 
All the fever of some differing soul. 

" Bounded by themselves, and unregardful 
In what state God's other works may be, 

In their own tasks all their powers pouring, 
These attain the mighty life you see." 

O air-born voice! long since severely clear, 
A cry like thine in mine own heart I hear: 

" Resolve to be thyself; and know that he 
Who finds himself loses his misery!" 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 177 



MY MISSION, 



BAYARD TAYLOR. 

ii 77 VERY spirit has its mission," say the transcendental 

-L/ crew; 
" This is mine," they cry ; "Eureka! this the purpose I pursue; 
For behold a god hath called me and his service I shall do; 

"Brother, seek thy calling likewise; thou wert destined for the 

same; 
Sloth is sin, and toil is worship, and the soul demands an aim: 
Who neglects the ordination, he shall not escape the flame." 

my ears are dinned and wearied with the clatter of the 

schools; 
Life to them is geometric, and they act by line and rule — 
If there be no other wisdom, better far to be a fool! 

Better far the honest nature, in its narrow path content, 
Taking with a child's acceptance whatsoever may be sent, 
Than the introverted vision, seeing self preeminent, 

For the spirit's proper freedom by itself may be destroyed, 
Wasting, like the young Narcissus, o'er its image in the void; 
Even virtue is not virtue when too consciously enjoyed. 

1 am sick of canting prophets, self-elected kings that reign 
Over herds of silly subjects, of their new allegiance vain; 
Preaching labor, preaching duty, preaching love with lips pro- 
fane. 

12 



I7 8 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

With the holiest things they tamper, and the noblest they 

degrade, 
Making life an institution, making destiny a trade; 
But the honest vice is better than the saintship they parade. 

Native goodness is unconscious, asks not to be recognized; 

But its baser affectation is a thing to be despised. 

Only when the man is loyal to himself shall he be prized. 

Take the current of your nature, make it stagnant if you will ; 
Dam it up to drudge forever at the service of your mill ; 
Mine the rapture and the freedom of the torrent on the hill! 

Straighten out your wavy borders; make a tow-path at the 

side; 
Be the dull canal your channel, where the heavy barges glide, — 
Lo! the muddy bed is tranquil, not a rapid breaks the tide! 

I shall wander o'er the meadows where the fairest blossoms 

call; 
Though the ledges seize and fling me headlong from the rocky 

. wall, 
I shall leave a rainbow hanging o'er the ruins of my fall. 

I shall lead a glad existence, as I broaden down the vales, 
Brimming past the regal cities, whitened with the seaward 

sails, — 
Feel the mighty pulse of ocean ere I mingle with its gales: 

Vex me not with weary questions; seek no moral to deduce; 
With the present I am busy, with the future hold a truce. 
If I live the life He gave me, God will turn it to His use. 



FA VORI TE SELF C TIONS. 1 7 9 



THE GARDENER'S DAUGHTER. 



ALFRED TENNYSON. 



THIS morning- is the morning of the day 
When I and Eustace from the city went 
To see the gardener's daughter; I and he 
Brothers in art; a friendship so complete, 
Portioned in halves between us, that we grew 
The fable of the city where we dwelt. 

My Eustace might have sat for Hercules; 
So muscular he spread, so broad a breast. 
He, by some law that holds in love and draws 
The greater to the lesser, long desired 
A certain miracle of symmetry, 
A miniature of loveliness, all grace 
Summed up and closed in little; Juliet, she, 
So light of foot, so light of spirit — oh, she 
To me myself, for some three careless moons, 
The summer pilot of an empty heart 
Unto the shores of nothing! Know you not 
Such touches are but embassies of love, 
To tamper with the fe'elings, ere he found 
Empire for life? But Eustace painted her, 
And said to me, she sitting with us then, 
"When will you paint like this?" and I replied, 
(My words were half in earnest, half in jest) 
" 'Tis not your work, but love's, love unperceived. 
A more ideal artist he than all, 
Came, drew your pencil from you, made those eyes 
Darker than darkest pansies, and that hair 
More black than ashbuds in the front of March. - ' 
And Juliet answered, laughing, " Go and see 



180 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

The gardener's daughter; trust me, after that, 

You scarce can fail to match his masterpiece." 

And up we rose, and on the spur we went. 

Who had not heard 

Of Rose, the gardener's daughter? Where was he, 

So blunt in memory, so old at heart, 

At such a distance from his youth in grief, 

That, having seen, forgot? The common mouth, 

So gross to express delight, in praise of her 

Grew oratory. Such a lord is love, 

And beauty such a mistress of the world. 

And now, 

As though 'twere yesterday, as though it were 

The hour just flown, that morn with all its sound 

(For those old Mays had thrice the life of these) 

Rings in mine ears. 

And Eustace turned and, smiling, said to me: 
" Hear how the bushes echo! By my life, 
These birds have joyful thoughts. Think you they sing 
Like poets, from the vanity of song? 
Or have they any sense of why they sing ? 
And would they praise the heavens for what they have?" 
And I made answer: "Were there nothing else 
For which to praise the heavens but only love, 
That only love were cause enough for praise." 

Lightly he laughed, as one that read my thought, 
And on we went; but ere an hour had passed, 
We reached a meadow slanting to the north ; 
Down which a well-worn pathway courted us 
To one green wicket in a private hedge; 
This, yielding, gave into a grassy walk 
Through crowded lilac-ambush trimly pruned; 
And one warm gust, full-fed with perfume, blew 
Beyond us, as we entered in the cool. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 181 

The garden stretches southward. In the midst 
A cedar spread his dark-green layers of shade 
The garden-glasses shone, and momently 
The twinkling laurel scattered silver lights. 

" Eustace," I said, "this wonder keeps the house 
He nodded, but a moment afterward 
He cried, "Look! look!" Before he ceased I turned. 
And, ere a star can wink, beheld her there. 

For up the porch there grew an Eastern rose, 
That, flowering high., the last night's gale had caught. 
And blown across the walk One arm aloft — 
Gowned in pure white, that fitted to the shape — 
Holding the bush, to fix it back, she stood 
A single stream of all her soft brown hair 
Poured on one side: the shadow of the flowers 
Stole all the golden gloss, and, wavering. 
Lovingly lower, trembled on her waist — 
Ah, happy shade! — and still went wavering down; 
But, ere it touched a foot that might have danced 
The greensward into greener circles, dipt. 
And mixed with shadows of the common ground! 
But the full day dwelt on her brows, and sunned 
Her violet eyes and all her Hebe-bloom, 
And doubled his own warmth against her lips. 
And on the bounteous wave of such a breast 
As never pencil drew. Half light, half shade, 
She stood, a sight to make an old man young 
So rapt, we neared the house; but she, a Rose 
In roses, mingled with her fragrant toil, 
Nor heard us come, nor from her tendance turned 
Into the world without; till close at hand, 
And almost ere I knew mine own intent, 
This murmur broke the stillness of that air 
Which brooded round about her: 



1 82 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

" Ah, one rose, 
One rose, but one by those fair fingers culled, 
Were worth a hundred kisses pressed on lips 
Less exquisite than thine'' 

She looked; but all 
Suffused with blushes — neither self-possessed 
Nor startled, but betwixt this mood and that. 
Divided in a graceful quiet — paused, 
And dropped the branch she held, and, turning, wound 
Her looser hair in braid, and stirred her lips 
For some sweet answer, though no answer came; 
Nor yet refused the rose, but granted it, 
And moved away, and left me, statue-like, 
In act to render thanks. I, that whole day, 
Saw her no more, although I lingered there 
Till every daisy slept, and love's white star 
Beamed through the thickened cedar in the dusk. 

So home we went, and all the livelong way 
With solemn gibe did Eustace banter me. 
" Now," said he, " will you climb the top of art. 
You cannot fail but work in hues to dim 
The Titianic Flora Will you match 
My Juliet? you. not you, — the master, love, 
A more ideal artist he than all." 

So home I went but could not sleep for joy, 
Reading her perfect features in the gloom, 
Kissing the rose she gave me o'er and o'er, 
And shaping faithful record of the glance 
That graced the giving — such a noise of life 
Swarmed in the golden present, such a voice 
Called to me from the years to come, and such 
A length of bright horizon rimmed the dark. 
And all that night I heard the watchmen peal 
The sliding season: all that night I heard 



FA V0R1 TE SELE CTJOJVS. 183 

The heavy clocks knolling the drowsy hours. 
The drowsy hours, dispensers of all good. 
O'er the mute city stole with folded wings, 
Distilling odors on me as they went 
To greet their fairer sisters of the East. 

Love at first sight, first-born and heir to all 
Made this night thus. Henceforward squall nor storm 
Could keep me from that Eden where she dwelt. 
Light pretexts drew me , sometimes a Dutch love 
For tulips; then for roses, moss or musk, 
To grace my city rooms, or fruits and cream 
Served in the weeping elm, and more and more 
A word could bring the color to my cheek , 
A thought would fill my eyes with happy dew; 
Love trebled life within me, and with each 
The year increased. 

The daughters of the year, 
One after one, through that still garden passed. 
Each garlanded with her peculiar flower 
Danced into light, and died into the shade: 
And each in passing touched with some new grace 
Or seemed to touch her, so that day by day, 
Like one that never can be wholly known, 
Her beauty grew; till autumn brought an hour 
For Eustace, when I heard his deep "I will," 
Breathed, like the covenant of a god, to hold 
From thence through all the worlds. But I rose up 
Full of his bliss, and following her dark eyes, 
Felt earth as air beneath me, till I reached 
The wicket-gate, and found her standing there. 

There sat we down upon a garden mound 
Two mutually enfolded; love, the third, 
Between us, in the circle of his arms 
Enwound us both ; and over many a range 



1 84 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

Of waning lime the gray cathedral towers, 

Across a hazy glimmer of the West, 

Revealed their shining windows. From them clashed 

The bells; we listened, with the time we played; 

We spoke of other things, we coursed about 

The subject most at heart, more near and near, 

Like doves about a dove-cot, wheeling round 

The central wish, until we settled there. 

Then, in that time and place, I spoke to her, 
Requiring, though I knew it was mine own, 
Yet for the pleasure that I took to hear, 
Requiring at her hand the greatest gift, 
A woman's heart, the heart of her I loved. 
And in that time and place she answered me, 
And in the compass of three little words, 
More musical than ever came in one, 
The silver fragments of a broken voice 
Made me most happy, faltering " I am thine/' 

But this whole hour your eyes have been intent 
On that veiled picture — veiled, for what it holds 
May not be dwelt on by the common day. 
This prelude has prepared thee. Raise thy soul. 
Make thine heart ready with thine eyes; the time 
Is come to raise the veil. 

Behold her there 
As I beheld her ere she knew my heart, 
My first, last love; the idol of my youth; 
The darling of my manhood, and, alas! 
Now the most blessed memory of mine age. 




FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 1 85 



LINES WRITTEN ON MY 87TH BIRTHDAY. 



DAVID DUDLEY FIELD. 



WHAT is it 7iow to live? It is to breathe 
The air of heaven, behold the pleasant earth, 
The shining rivers, the inconstant sea, 
Sublimity of mountains, wealth of clouds, 
And radiance o'er all of countless stars. 
It is to sit before the cheerful hearth 
With groups of friends and kindred, store of books, 

Rich heritage from ages past, 

Hold sweet communion, soul with soul, 
On things now past, or present, or to come, 
Or muse alone upon my earlier days, 

Unbind the scroll whereon is writ 

The story of my busy life, 
Mistakes too often, but successes more, 

And consciousness of duty done. 
It is to see with laughing eyes the play 

Of children sporting on the lawn, 

Or mark the eager strifes of men 

And nations, seeking each and all, 

Belike advantage to obtain 

Above their fellows; such is man! 
It is to feel the pulses quicken, as I hear 

Of great achievements near or far 
Whereon may turn perchance 
The fate of generations ages hence. 
It is to rest with folded arms betimes, 

And so surrounded, so sustained, 

Ponder on what may yet befall 

In that unknown mysterious realm 



1 86 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

Which lies beyond the range of mortal ken. 
Where souls immortal do forever dwell, 
Think of the loved ones who await me there, 
And, without murmuring or inward grief, 
With mind unbroken and no fear, 
"Calmly await the coming of the Lord. 



PREMONITION OF IMMORTALITY. 



DAVID DUDLEY FIELD. 



[Written in illness, during the winter of 1892 ] 

IN wakeful hours, upon my weary bed, 
I watch the planet Jupiter come forth 
In lustre from the rim of Eastern skies, 
And mount aloft, till lost in morning light. 
Gazing enraptured, I wondering ask, 
Whence art thou, what thy purpose, and thy use ? 
Art thou of beings like ourselves the home? 
Faith answers, wait until the spirit leaves 
Its fleshly garments and unfettered walks 
Among the stars, beholding face to face 
The Almighty Maker; then thou' It see and know 
Till then think not that this transcendent orb 
Was meant to mock us with a useless light, 
And yet conceal what most we long to see. 
Rather believe that life will be prolonged, 
Until the truth sublime shall stand revealed. 
Hope on' Our lives are made of hopes and fears: 
This radiance is a star of hope for all. 
The mind perceives what mortal eye sees not, 
And lives in confidence of things unknown. 
For even now, when icy winter halts 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 187 

As loth to meet the spring, I wait for birds 

To sing melodious welcome in the trees, 

And buds, with fragrance newly laden, burst 

Upon the soft, enchanted waves of air. , 



THE POOR FISHER FOLK. 



VICTOR HUGO. 
Translated by the Rev. H. W. Alexander. 

,r PlS night; within the close-shut cabin door 
1 The room is wrapped in shade, save where there fall 

Some twilight rays that creep along the floor, 
And show the fisher's nets upon the wall. 

In the dim corner, from the oaken chest 

A few white dishes glimmer ; through the shade 

Stands a tall bed with dusky curtains dressed, 
And a rough mattress at its side is laid. 

Five children on the long low mattress lie, — 
A nest of little souls, it heaves with dreams; 

In the high chimney the last embers die, 

And redden the dark roof with crimson gleams. 

The mother kneels and thinks, and, pale with fear, 
She prays alone, hearing the billows shout, 

While to wild winds, to rocks, to midnight drear, 
The ominous old ocean sobs without. 

Janet is sad, her husband is alone, 

Wrapped in the black shroud of this bitter night. 
His children are so little, there is none 

To give him aid. 4< Were they but old, they might." 



1 88 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

Ah, mother, when they, too, are on the main, 

How wilt thou weep, "Would they were young again!' 

She takes her lantern. 'Tis his hour at last; 

She will go forth, and see if the day breaks, 
And if his signal-fire be at the mast; 

Ah, no! not yet' No breath of morning wakes. 

Sudden her human eyes, that peer and watch 

Through the deep shade, a mouldering dwelling find. 

No light within; the thin door shakes, — the thatch 
O'er the green walls is twisted of the wind. 

"Ah, me," she saith, "here doth that widow dwell; 
I will go in and see if all be well." 

She strikes the door; she listens; none replies, 
And Janet shudders. " Husbandless, alone, 

And with two children — they have scant supplies, — 
Good neighbor! She sleeps heavy as a stone." 

She calls again, she knocks; 'tis silence still,— 
No sound, no answer; suddenly the door, 

As if the senseless creature felt some thrill 
Of pity, turned, and open lay before. 

She entered, and her lantern lighted all 

The house, so still but for the rude waves' din. 

Through the thin roof the plashing rain-drops fali, 
But something terrible is couched within. 

Half clothed, dark-featured, motionless lay she, 
The once strong mother, now devoid of life; 

The cold and livid arm, already stiff, 

Hung o'er the soaked straw of her wretched bed. 
And all the while 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 189 

Two little children, in one cradle near, 

Slept face to face, on each sweet face a smile. 

The dying mother o'er them, as they lay, 

Had cast her gown, and wrapped her mantle's fold; 

Feeling chill death creep up, she willed that they 
Should yet be warm while she was lying cold. 

But why does Janet pass so fast away? 

What foldeth she beneath her mantle gray? 
And hurries home, and hides it in her bed? 

What hath she stolen from the awful dead? 

The dawn was whitening over the sea's verge 

As she sat pensive, touching broken chords 
Of half-remorseful thought, while the hoarse surge 

Howled a sad concert to her broken words. 

"Ah, my poor husband! we had five before; 

Already so much care, so much to find, 
For he mast work for all. I give him more. 

What was that noise? His step? Ah, no, the wind. 

"That I should be afraid of him I love! 

I have done ill. If he should beat me now, 
I would not blame him. Did not the door move? 

Not yet, poor man." She sits with careworn brow, 
Wrapped in her inward grief, nor hears the roar 

Of winds and waves that dash against his prow, 
Nor the black cormorant shrieking on the shore. 

Sudden the door flies open wide, and lets 

Noisily in the dawn-light scarcely clear, 
And the good fisher dragging his damp nets 

Stands on the threshold with a joyous cheer. 



190 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

" 'Tis thou!" she cries, and eager as a lover 
Leaps up, and holds her husband to her breast; 

Her greeting kisses all his vesture cover. 

" 'Tis I, good wife!" and his broad face expressed 

How gay his heart that Janet's love made light. 

''What weather was it?" "Hard." " Your fishing?" "Bad. 
The sea was like a nest of thieves to-night; 

But I embrace thee, and my heart is glad. 

"There was a devil in the wind that blew; 

I tore my net, caught nothing, broke my line, 
And once I thought the bark was broken too ; 

What did you all the night long, Janet mine?" 

She, trembling in the darkness, answered, "I? 

O naught! I sewed, I watched, I was afraid; 
The waves were loud as thunders from the sky ; 

But it is over." Shyly then she said: 

"Our neighbor died last night; it must have been 
When you were gone. She left two little ones, 

So small, so frail — William and Madeline; 
The one just lisps, the other scarcely runs." 



The man looked grave, and in the corner cast 
His old fur bonnet, wet with rain and sea; 

Muttered awhile, and scratched his head; at last, 
"We have five children, this makes seven," said he. 

" Already in bad weather we must sleep 

Sometimes without our supper. Now — ah, well, 

'Tis not my fault. These accidents are deep; 
It was the good God's will. I cannot tell. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 191 

" Why did He take the mother from those scraps, 

No bigger than my fist ? 'Tis hard to read; 
A learned man might understand perhaps; 

So little, they can neither work nor need. • 

"Go fetch them, wife; they will be frightened sore 

If with the dead alone they waken thus; 
That was the mother knocking at our door, 

And we must take the children home to us. 

" Brother and sister shall they be to ours, 

And they shall learn to climb my knee at even. 

When He shall see these strangers in our bowers, 
More fish, more food will give the God of heaven. 

" I will work harder; I will drink no wine — 

Go fetch them. Wherefore dost thou linger, dear? 

Not thus were wont to move those feet of thine." 
She drew the curtain, saying, "They are here." 

Adapted by the Compilers. 



EXTRACT FROM "THE LIGHT OF ASIA." 



SIR EDWIN ARNOLD. 



THEN said the master: "I will also go!" 
So paced he patiently, bearing the lamb 
Beside the herdsmen in the dust and sun, 
The wistful ewe low bleating at his feet. 
Whom, when they came unto the river-side, 
A woman — dove-eyed, young, with tearful face 
And lifted hands— saluted, bending low: 
"Lord! thou art he," she said, "who yesterday 



92 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

Had pity on me in the fig-grove here, 

Where I live lone and reared my child; but he 

Straying amid the blossoms found a snake, 

Which twined about his wrist, whilst he did laugh 

And tease the quick-forked tongue and opened mouth 

Of that cold playmate. It was so very small, 

That kiss-mark of the serpent, and I think 

It could not hate him, gracious as he was, 

Nor hurt him in his sport. And some one said: 

'There is a holy man upon the hill — 

Lo! now he passeth in the yellow robe — 

Ask of the Rishi if there be a cure 

For that which ails thy son. ' Whereon I came, 

Trembling, to thee whose brow is like a god's, 

And wept and drew the face-cloth from my babe, 

Praying thee tell what simples might be good. 

And thou, great sir! didst spurn me not, but gazed 

With gentle eyes and touched with patient hand; 

Then drew the face-cloth back, saying to me: 

'Yea! little sister, there is that might heal 

Thee first, and him, if thou couldst fetch the thing; 

For they who seek physicians bring to them 

What is ordained. Therefore, I pray thee, find 

Black mustard-seed, a tola; only mark 

Thou take it not from any hand or house 

Where father, mother, child, or slave hath died: 

It shall be well if thou canst find such seed.' 

Thus didst thou speak, my lord!" 

The master smiled 
Exceeding tenderly: "Yea! I spake thus, 
Dear Kisagotami! But didst thou find 
The seed ?" 

" I went, lord, clasping to my breast 
The babe, grown colder, asking at each hut, 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 193 

Here in the jungle and toward the town, 
'I pray you, give me mustard, of your grace, 
A tola — black;' and each who had it gave, 
For all the poor are piteous to the poor. 
But when I asked, 'In my friend's household here 
Hath any peradventure ever died — 
Husband or wife, or child, or slave?' they said: 
'O sister! what is this you ask? The dead 
Are very many, and the living few!' 
So with sad thanks I gave the mustard back, 
And prayed of others; but the others said, 
'Here is thy seed, but we have lost our slave!' 
Here is thy seed, but our good man is dead;' 
'Here is some seed, but he that sowed it died 
Between the rain-time and the harvesting. ' 
Ah, sir, I could not find a single house 
Where there was mustard-seed and none had died! 
Therefore I left my child — who could not feed 
Nor smile — beneath the wild vines by the stream 
To seek thy face, and kiss thy feet, and pray 
Where I might find this seed and find no death." 

" My sister! thou hast found," the master said, 
" Searching for what none finds — that bitter balm 
I had to give thee. He thou lovest slept 
Dead on thy bosom yesterday : to-day 

Thou knowest the whole wide world weeps with thy woe. 
The grief which all hearts share grows less for one. 
Lo! I would pour my blood if it could stay 
Thy tears and win the secret of that curse 
Which makes sweet love our anguish, and which drives 
O'er flowers and pastures to the sacrifice 
As these dumb beasts are driven — men their lords. 
I seek that secret. Bury thou thy child!" 
13 



194 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 



TO WALT WHITMAN. 



ANNIE THOMAS. 



GREAT mind ! Sweet soul ! least understood, 
With homage thee I greet! 
Too early hast thou lived, it seems, 
So few thy thought can meet. 

But unto those to whom 'tis given 

To understand — through tears — 
A vision of the life beyond 

While here below appears. 

For over poor and common things, 

The homeliest — to sight 
Thou throwest with thy deeper thought 

A beauty new and bright. 

W T ith tender word and loving care 

And sympathetic tear, 
Thou gatherest to thy gentle breast, 

The lonely outcasts here. 

From evil thou extractest good — 
Good from which blessings grow — 

Even dreaded death no longer can 
A single terror show. 

Only thine own majestic form 

A heart so great could hold — 
Only the tears in childhood shed, 

A soul so pure could mould. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 195 

Thou, too, hast suffered — sore and long — 

Although thy lips deny; 
But in thy sorrow singing still 

The songs that will not die. 

I thank thee for the lessons given 

And for the sight unsealed ; 
With grateful heart and peaceful soul 

I see the truth revealed. 



GEMS FROM WALT WHITMAN. 

AND I say to mankind: Be not curious about God; 
For I, who am curious about each, am not curious about 

God. 
(No array of terms can say how much I am at peace about God 

and about death.) 
I hear and behold God in every object, yet understand God 

not in the least; 
Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than 

myself. 
Why should I wish to see God better than this day! 
I see something of God each hour of the twenty-four and each 

moment then; 
In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face 

in the glass; 
I find letters from God dropped in the street, and every one is 

signed by God's name, 
And I leave them where they are, for I know that wheresoe'er 

I go, 
Others will punctually come forever and ever. 



196 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' 

I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid 

and self-contained: 
I stand and look at them long and long. 
They do not sweat and whine about their condition; 
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins; 
They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God. 
Not one is dissatisfied; not one is demented with the mania of 

owning things: 
Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands 

of years ago. 

******* 

O living always — always dying! 
O the burials of me, past and present! 

O me, while I stride ahead, ' material, visible, imperious as ever! 
O me, what I was for years, now dead I lament not — I am 
content. 

to disengage myself from those corpses of me which I turn 

and look at, where I cast them! 
To pass on (O living! always living!) and leave the corpses 
behind. 
******* 

1 lie abstracted, and hear beautiful tales of things, and the 

reasons of things; 
They are so beautiful, I nudge myself to listen. 
I cannot say to any person what I hear — I cannot say it to 

myself — it is very wonderful. 
It is no small matter, this round and delicious globe, moving 

so exactly in its orbit forever and ever, without one 

jolt, or the untruth of a single second. 
I do not think it was made in six days, nor in ten thousand 

years, nor ten billions of years; 
Nor planned and built one thing after another, as an architect 

plans and builds a house. 



FAVORITE SELECTIONS. 197 

I do not think seventy years is the time of a man or woman, 
Nor that seventy millions of years is the time of a man or 

woman, 
Nor that years will ever stop the existence of me or any one 

else. 
Is it wonderful- that I should be immortal, as every one is 

immortal ? 
I know it is wonderful — but my eyesight is equally wonderful, 

and how I was conceived in my mother's womb is 

equally wonderful ; 
And passed from a babe, in the creeping trance of a couple of 

summers and winters, to articulate and walk — all this 

is equally wonderful. 
And that my soul embraced you this hour and we affect each 

other without ever seeing each other, and never perhaps 

to see each other, is every bit as wonderful. 
And that I can think such thoughts as these is just as wonder- 
ful : 
And that I can remind you, and you think them and know 

them to be true, is just as wonderful ; 
And that the moon spins round the earth and on with the earth, 

is equally as wonderful, 
And that they balance themselves with the sun and stars, is 

equally wonderful. 

******* 

Me wherever my life is lived. O to be self-balanced for con- 
tingencies! 

O to confront night, storms, hunger, ridicule, accidents, rebuffs, 
as the trees and animals do. 

O the orator's joys' To innate the chest — to roll the thunder 
of the voice out from the ribs and throat, 

To make the people rage, weep, hate, desire, with yourself, 

To lead America — to quell America with a great tongue. 

O the joy of a manly selfhood! 



I9 8 JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS' SELECTIONS. 

Personality — to be servile to none — to defer to none — not to 

any tyrant, known or unknown ; 
To walk with erect carriage, a step springy and elastic; 
To look with calm gaze or with flashing eye: 
To speak with a full and sonorous voice out of a broad chest; 
To confront with your personality all the other personalities of 

the earth ; 
O to have my life henceforth my poem of joys! 
To dance, clap hands, exult, shout, skip, leap, roll on, float on. 
An athlete — full of rich words — full of joys! 

******* 

The soul travels; the body does not travel as much as the soul; 
The body has just as great a work as the soul, and parts away 

at last for the journeys of the soul. 
All parts away for the progress of souls; 
All religion, all solid things, arts, governments — all that was 

or is apparent upon this globe or any globe, falls into 

niches and corners before the procession of souls along the 

grand roads of the universe. 
Of the progress of the souls of men and women along the 

grand roads of the universe, all other progress is the 

needed emblem and sustenance 
Forever alive, forever forward, 
Stately, solemn, sad, withdrawn, baffled, mad, turbulent, feeble, 

dissatisfied, 
Desperate, proud, fond, sick, accepted by men, rejected by 

men, 
They go! they go! I know that they go, but I know not where 

they go ; 
But I know they are toward the best — toward something great. 



CONSERVATORY OK 

IloiasPsyclo-Plysical CfllresaM Elocntion, 

NEW YORK CITY. 

1892-93 — SIXTEENTH YEAR. 

Originators and Founders, . . . JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS. 



THE PSYCHO-PHYSICAL DEPARTMENT 

EMBRACES 

1. Analysis — Physical Perfection and Personal Beauty. 

2. a. Emotional Influence — or oneness of Soul and Body. 

b. Mental Influence— or oneness of Mind and Body. 

c. Harmony of Influence — or oneness of Body, Soul and Mind. 

3. Correction of abnormal (deformed or diseased) Psycho-Physical conditions. 

4. Harmonious Psycho- Mental- Muscular- Action, combined with Lung- 

power (responsive to each) conducive to the perfect development of 
the Muscular, Respiratory, Circulatory and Nervous Systems. Same 
applied to organs and functions. 

5. Voice Training with action. 

6. Posing (Statuesque, Gesticulatory). Repose. 

7. Graceful Deportment (Home — School — Street — Public Assemblies — 

Receptions, etc., etc.). 

DEPARTMENT OF ELOCUTION AND DRAMATIC ART 

(conservatory course) embraces 

1. Analysis and Classification. 4. Expression. 

2. Mechanics. 5. Literature, 

3. Orthoepy. 6. Psychology and Sarcognomy. 

7. ^Esthetics and Dramatic Science. 

TERMS {INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE). 

PRIVATE INSTRUCTION. 

Single Lesson, . . . . . . . . . $ 5 00 

Twenty-five Lessons, ........ 75 00 

Fifty Lessons, .......... 100 00 

CLUB RATES. 

No charge for Lessons to those organizing a Club or a Private Class. 
Club of Twenty-five (ten lessons), each ..... $10 00 

Club of Ten (ten lessons), each ...... *5 00 

Club of Eive (ten lessons), each ....... 25 00 

Teachers' Class, Fridays, 4.30 P.M. 

Special attention is called to our Psycho-Physical (Copyrighted) Training department, a 
grand reformatory system for the development of perfect Health, Strength and Grace. The 
only method of correct basic training for the voice in speaking or singing. Every teacher 
should understand its principles. It is attractive to the power of fascinating both young and 
old. It has for its object Physical Perfection and true Personal Beauty, and can be practised 
without difficulty. No apparatus necessary. Unparalleled success in correcting improper 
habits of standing, round shoulders, curved spines and sunken chests, heart, lung, stomach 
and nervous troubles. 

Improvement guaranteed in every case. Pupils, of either sex, vary in age from 3 to 75. 

Engagements made with Schools, Clubs, Churches, Unions, etc, in any State, for 
courses of lessons, at reasonable terms. 



The 3 F. f>. P. G. J5ss©ciati©n 

JULIA and ANNIE THOMAS, Founders, 

1885. 



" Know ye not that ye are the temple of God and that the spirit of God dwelleth in you ?" 
" If any man defile the temple of God, him shall God destroy, for the temple of God is 
holy, which temple ye are."—/. Corinthians, iii. 16, 17. 



PRESIDENT. 
Miss Annie Gregory Thomas, New York City. 

EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE. 



Miss Ida Knapp, New York City. 
Miss Alice Freeman, New York City. 
Miss Ada T. Sulger, Trenton, N. J. 
Miss Mary Olivek, Allegheny, Pa. 
Miss Margaret Manton, New York City. 

SECRETARY. 

Miss Mary Thomas, New York City. 



Mrs. Louise Downs Quigley, 

Miss Ethel Forsyth, London, England. 

Miss Annie B. T. White, Bay Ridge, L. I. 

Miss Mary Lilly, Newark, N. J. 

Miss Mary Clark, Matawan, N. J. 

TREASURER. 

Miss Annie Hillyer, New York City. 



NAME.— The Thomas Psycho-Physical Culture Association. 

OBJECT. — Realizing that these bodies are indeed temples of God, we 
purpose to do all in our power to fit our own for, and to assist others in ren- 
dering theirs suitable residences for the Divine guest, to understand, to 
develop, to cultivate, refine and beautify the temple, and thus cheer, sustain 
and uphold the guiding power— the soul that dwells within. 

SYMBOL. — The Badge— a red, a yellow and a blue ribbon knotted to- 
gether. (Shades of colors on the cover of this book. Interpretation given below.) 

The Ring or Pin — a ruby, a topaz and a sapphire set in triangle on a bar 
or band of gold. 

MEMBERSHIP. — Anyone may become a member who desires, after 
taking a course of instruction from the President or from any licensed teacher. 

TEACHERS. — It is required that recommendation from a licensed 
teacher or Member of the Executive Committee be presented with appli- 
cation to the President for examination for license to teach the system. 
A list of the names of licensed teachers furnished on application to the 

President. 

INTERPRETATION OF COLORS EMPLOYED. 

Red.— The Ruby.— Emblematic of the body, life, heat of the creative power, divine love. 
The red color of the blood has its origin in the action of the heart, which corresponds to or 
symbolizes love. Signifies care of the body. 

Blue.— The Sapphire.— Emblematic of the mind, thought— expresses Heaven, the firma- 
ment, protection, constancy, fidelity, and symbolizes truth from a celestial origin. Signifies 
cultivation 0/ the mind, study, thought, etc. 

Yellow.— The Topaz.— Emblematic of the soul— expresses the sun, the goodness of God, 
hope, joy, faith, and symbolizes success or triumph of spirit over matter. Signifies culture of 
the soul, doing good to others, trusting in Divine Power.— Julia and Annie Gregory Thomas. 



SUBJECTS FOR CONSIDERATION. 



1. The Temple.— Construction : Skeleton ; 
Joints ; Muscular, Circulatory, Arterial, 
Venous and Nervous Systems ; Digestion 
and Respiration; Special Senses, Voice, etc. 

2. Dress —Suitable, Comfortable, Light in 
weight, Healthful, Beautiful. 

3. Air — Ventilation, etc. 



Food, Drink, Bathing. 

Sleep.— Rest. 

Exercise. — Recreation. 

Mental Culture. 

Soul Culture. 

Surroundings, Associations, etc. 



10. Directions for the Care of the " Temple. 



LESSON COURSE. 



MISS ANNIE GREGORY THOMAS, 

OF THE 

CONSERVATORY OF THOMAS PSYCHO - PHYSICAL CULTURE 

(copyrighted 1889), 

ELOCUTION AND DRAMATIC ART, 

New York City. 

JULIA AND ANNIE THOMAS, Founders. 



MISS ANNIE GREGORY THOMAS, one of the originators of the 
System of Psycho-Physical Culture, announces a course of ten lessons on 
the following subjects, demonstrating the methods of physical development 
through natural movements and unseen forces. 

Engagements made with Churches, Colleges, Schools, Conventions, 
Clubs, Associations, Unions, etc.. in any State. 

Classes may consist of any number of students of any age, of either sex. 

Terms for the course of Ten Lessons .... $150.00 

SUBJECTS. 

Psycho-Physical Culture — For the development of Health, Strength and 
Beauty — the only Method of correct basic Training for the Voice in Speaking 
and Singing. 

1. The Psycho-Physical Pose. Joint Movements. 

2. Lung Power— the synonym of Strength and Endurance. Breathing Exercises. Voice 

Culture. 

3. Address Exercises for Grace, Equilibrium, Repose. First and Second series. 

4. Third series. Court Address, etc. 

5. Different forms of Address. 

6. Carriage. Walking. 

7. Different Steps. Skipping, Running, etc. 

8. Psycho-Physical Harmonious Action for Strength. For Special Ailments. 

9. Harmonious Action— continued. 

10. Gesture. Recitals and Readings, illustrative of Psycho-Physical Training, assisted 
by Pupils. 

WRITINGS OF JULIA THOMAS. 

The friends of Julia Thomas have expressed the desire for her writings so frequently that 
they have been issued in a convenient and readable style. Her articles entitled : 
"Needs of the Girl," "Am I My Brother's Keeper?" 

"Elocution, 1 ' " Mormon Letters," 

"Higher Education for Women,' 1 etc., and "Miscellaneous Writings," 
have been issued in pamphlet form at twenty-five cents each, the six bound in cloth, gilt, 
$1.00, to be obtained by addressing 

MISS ANNIE GREGORY THOMAS, 
Conservatory of Thomas Psycho-Physical Culture, New York City. 






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